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THE
LIFE
AND
CORRESPONDENCE
OF
M. G. LEWIS,
AUTHOR OF
" THE MONK," « CASTLE SPECTRE," &c.
WITH MANY
PIECES IN PROSE AND VERSE,
NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED.
Hail, wonder-working Lewis !"
BYHON,
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER,
QREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.
1839.
PR
4SSS
\&33
v,
WHITING, BEAUFORT HOUSE, STRAND,
23844
I /i
PREFACE.
IT can scarcely be deemed necessary to preface
the following pages by any lengthened explana-
tory or descriptive account of their nature and
objects. It is no exaggeration to say that the sub-
ject of them was more talked of than any other
man of his day. Byron himself was not so
striking an example of a young gentleman
"waking up one morning and finding himself
famous;" and this without the slightest antici-
pation of such a destiny. The author of " The
Monk" was, to-day, a youth of twenty, utterly
" unknown to fame," beyond the narrow limits of
his own family circle ; to-morrow, he was the most
admired and abused of living writers. And to the
day of his death he never lost this unenviable dis-
tinction. He was, moreover, during the whole of
his life, subsequent to the publication of his noted
work, the friend and associate of nearly all the
IV PREFACE.
most celebrated men of his day, many of whom
have become still more celebrated since. Among
the number of Lewis's associates and intimates
were the Prince of Wales (afterwards George IV.) j
the Duke of Clarence (afterwards William IV.) ;
the Sheridans (father and son), the present premier,
Canning, Lords Holland and Byron, Moore ; in
short all the most noted men of that day, and
many of the present. The personal memoirs and
correspondence of such a man will scarcely be
considered as a superfluous addition to our bio-
graphical literature.
With regard to the manner in which the editor's
task has been performed — for, with the responsibi-
lity, the honours of authorship must be waived — the
main object has been, to make the subject of these
volumes tell his own story, and develop his own
personal and intellectual character ; which the
nature of the materials placed in the editor's hands
rendered a matter of easy attainment.
A few words may be added, in regard to the sin-
gular discrepancy between that character and the
published writings from which its owner drew his
celebrity. There is nothing else in English litera-
ture so wild, so extravagant, so utterly at variance
with all the ordinary and received rules of art and of
criticism (not to mention the recognised codes of
PREFACE. V
morals), as the chief writings of " Monk " Lewis.
Yet we may tax the whole circle of our biographical
literature to show us a man whose personal character
and conduct — from his earliest youth to the close
of his worldly career — were more strictly and
emphatically those which we are accustomed to
look for from a plain, right-thinking, common sense
view of human affairs. With an almost unlimited
command of money, even in early youth — with the
unfettered control, in early manhood, of a princely
fortune — with a boundless acquaintance among the
highest and least constrained classes of society —
and with a degree of personal celebrity scarcely
equalled by any other man of his day, and, per-
haps, never equalled in any day by one so young ;
with all these dangerous "appliances and means"
of attracting Lewis froni " the even tenour of
his way," he never once seems to have stepped
aside from that path, or to have felt the smallest
inclination to do so. The editor of these vo-
lumes, with no inclination to dispute or to justify
the extravagant and erring spirit of Lewis's
published writings, — much less to palliate the dan-
gerous moral tendency of some portions of them, —
cannot, on the other hand, refuse to admire and
point public attention to the strong good sense,
good feeling, and honourable principle which
VI
PREFACE.
marked the whole course of his general conduct in
life, as developed in these pages ; — his exemplary
duty and affection as a son and a brother — his
kindness and generosity as a friend — and his un-
blemished integrity as a man and a gentleman.
The editor has only further to express a feeling
of satisfaction at being the medium of first intro-
ducing to the world so many of Lewis's unpublished
writings, not one of which, it is confidently believed,
will be found to include any of the exceptionable
qualities of his more celebrated works.
CONTENTS
THE FIRST VOLUME.
CHAPTER I.
Preliminary remarks — Matthew Lewis — Family — Early history of
Mrs. Lewis — Anecdote of George the Third — M. G. Lewis a pre-
cocious critic — Musical parties — The Wesleys — The Knyvets —
Harrison— Clementi— Reinhold— -De Camp—Mrs. C. Kemble—
Mrs. Mitz — Mr. Jerry Crane — An optical illusion — Singular in-
cident regarding the fate of Miss Ray — Some particulars of
her history — Anecdotes of Lewis — His early reading — Witch-
craft— Haunted mansion — His brother and sister — Leyden, &c.
&c. &c. .. . . 1
CHAPTER II.
Boyhood — Westminster school — Histrionic talents — Domestic mat-
ters— Removal to Oxford — Paris — First literary attempts . 40
CHAPTER III.
Residence in Germany — Goethe — German Princes — Dukes and
Excellencies — "The East Indian" — Volume of Poems — Mrs.
Jordan . . . . . .69
CHAPTER IV.
Correspondence continued— Visit to Scotland— Contribution to
newspapers — Domestic matters . . . ,90
Vlll CONTENTS.
CHAPTER V.
Residence at the Hague—" Mysteries of Udolpho " — The Dutch—
Parties of Madame de Matignon — Dutch assemblies— Anecdote
of Lord Kerry — " The Monk " — Visit to the army at Arnheim —
Bombardment of the bridge of Nimeguen — Duke of York — Cha-
racter of the French and allied armies — English sensibility 121
CHAPTER VI.
The Monk — Romantic fiction . . .151
CHAPTER VII.
Reception in society — Anecdote — Parliament — Retirement — Visits
to Inverary Castle — Love — "Crazy Jane" — Wild air — Private
Theatricals-— "The Bugle" — Unpublished MSS. . . 179
CHAPTER VIII.
"The Castle Spectre"— " The Minister"— " Rolla"— « The Twins"
—"Adelmorn the Outlaw" — « Alfonso" — "The Captive"—
" The Bravo of Venice," &c. &c. . . . .211
CHAPTER IX.
Ballads and melodies ..... 243
CHAPTER X.
Domestic matters— An episode — Mrs. Lewis's writings— Female
authorship — Disagreement with his father — Journey to Scot-
land— Correspondence — Reconciliation . . 267
CHAPTER XI.
Cottage at Barnes— Fete champetre— Character of Lewis's friends
—Monody on the Death of Sir John Moore — Duke of Clarence
—Princess of Wales— Affair of honour . . .831
N
MEMOIRS
OF
M. G. LEWIS.
CHAPTER I.
Preliminary remarks — Matthew Lewis — Family — Early history of
Mrs. Lewis — Anecdote of George the Third — M. G. Lewis a pre-
cocious critic — Musical parties — The Wesleys — The Knyvets — •
Harrison — Clementi — Reinhold — De Camp — Mrs. C. Kemble—
Mrs. Mitz — Mr. Jerry Crane — An optical illusion — Singular in-
cident regarding the fate of Miss Ray — Some particulars of her
history — Anecdotes of Lewis — His early reading — Witchcraft — •
Haunted Mansion — His brother and sisters — Leyderi, &c. &c. &c.
THE private characters of distinguished literary
men have always afforded an interesting subject
of inquiry, and one which has often been the
fruitful source of great diversity of opinion. It is
one, also, in which our means of forming a correct
judgment are usually extremely limited ; and it
hence not unfrequently happens, that we permit
our ideas of the author to receive their colouring
from the productions of his imaginative powers.
It is impossible to judge correctly of the mind of
VOL. I. B
2 MEMOIRS OF
any writer by so fallacious a test ; and it is cer-
tainly far from justifiable to subject him to it, or
to identify his own sentiments with those of the
characters he may have chosen to create in his
visionary drama. It has been alleged that the ro-
mantic poetry of the middle ages owed its origin,
in a great measure, to a desire in the poetical
mind to escape from the scenes of strife and vio-
lence, so prevalent in those times, and to take
refuge in the wildest regions of fancy, and people
an ideal world with imaginary beings, whose
nature and habits were not only opposed to hu-
manity, but exceeded the bounds of superstition
itself. With some degree of analogy, then, we
would affirm that the modern romancist may seek
the enjoyment of novelty and variety, by deline-
ating characters the most opposite to his own, and
dwelling on emotions utterly at variance with the
" moods of his own mind."
We remember to have read an anecdote of a
lady, who, on speaking of the works of the poet
Thomson, observed that she could gather from his
writings three parts of his character : that he was
an ardent lover, a great swimmer, and rigorously
abstinent. Savage, to whom the remark was
addressed, assured her that, in regard to the first,
she was altogether mistaken ; for the second, his
M. G. LEWIS.
friend was perhaps never in cold water in his life ;
and as to the third, he indulged in every luxury that
came within his reach. Upon somewhat similar
grounds have been founded the assertions of many
of those who have ventured to pronounce on the
character and principles of Matthew Gregory
Lewis, better known as " Monk Lewis ;" and it
is hardly to be wondered at, that such opinions
have not only been erroneous, but confused and
contradictory.
" Authors and actors," said a late fascinating
votary of Thalia, " are fair game. We are all of
us, more or less, kings and queens in our own
little magic circle, and must be content to share
their lot in the praise and censure of the world.
But beyond this the public has no right to judge.
The success or failure of our attempts to please
may be freely commented on ; but the world has
surely no right to endow us with any imaginary
failings or virtues of character."
Again, as it is the lot of every acknowledged
genius to be an object of general interest — and few
during their lives were more so than the subject of
our pages — those who may have gained an introduc-
tion to the recently uncaged lion, feel one and all
so confident in their own wise assertions respect-
ing his habits, conversation, and manner, that the
B 2
4 MEMOIRS OF
public, glad to learn any thing of the idol of the
day, are generally more disposed to take all such
statements upon trust, than stop to inquire whe-
ther their authority deserves implicit reliance.
Alas ! they surely forget how true it is that " the
world's a stage," and that the actors on the scene
of fashionable life are, of all, the most thoroughly
disguised and artificial. Besides, though we are
not disposed to go such lengths as the ingenious
" Expositor" of the " False Medium," in his
views of the gloomy fate which awaits men of
genius in society, it is too true that, in the social
circles of London, scarcely any imaginative writer
has ever risen to eminence, without being assailed
by the venomous shafts of envy, or by the blun-
dering missiles of the obtuse and ignorant, who
are always ready to defame and injure a character
which they are incapable of justly appreciating.
In the following pages, " Mat Lewis" will, for
the first time, appear before the public in his
natural character, stripped of all those fantastical
trappings with which fame and prejudice have
hitherto decked him, and will speak in the lan-
guage of his heart. The letters which we shall
have occasion to lay before our readers, contain
the sentiments of a noble mind, and the unstudied
outpourings of a generous spirit. The earlier ones
M. G. LEWIS. 5
— those written from Oxford, and on his subse-
quent tour — are imbued with all the light-hearted
freshness of "unbruised youth;" the joyous em-
pressement of unsophisticated boyhood ; while the
mingled hopes and fears, the jealous doubts and
anxieties, of the youthful author of the afterwards
celebrated " Monk," cannot, we think, fail to
render them equally interesting with those written
at a later date, and evidently the offspring of more
sober feelings and of a better developed judgment.
The talent displayed in Lewis's writings is
universally admitted to be of a very high order j
and although it must be acknowledged that his
Pegasus was wont too often to prance in wild and
extraordinary regions, yet ever did this " moon-
struck child of genius" manage his winged steed
with skilfulness and grace. Without being a great
poet, his classical and harmonious numbers — his
light and figurative style, abounding in elegant
metaphors, and the finest turns of thought — pos-
sess the essentials of poetry in a very superior
degree ; and perhaps, were we to regard him only
as a poet, his claims in this respect might be con-
sidered equally legitimate with those founded on
the more eccentric flights of his imagination, which
so often took the public as it were by storm. All
his writings exhibit a share of that dramatic
6 MEMOIRS OF
arrangement in which he eminently excelled, and
whereby he so often proved himself to be master of
the " cunning of his art." In stage effect — in
intense interest, and startling incidents — he was
unrivalled in his day ; and if the scenes he de-
picted were occasionally shaded by a morbid fan-
tasy, beams of dazzling thought would often flash
through the gloom, making the beauties stand out
in relief from those errors which are too often allied
to the singularities of genius. He was daring, but
never dull ; and we believe that the utmost
severity of criticism never accused him of being
uninteresting or commonplace.
But whatever be the literary claims of Matthew
Lewis, we turn willingly from the leaves yet bright
in Fame's tributary crown, to prepare a wreath
suited for a fairer and holier shrine — that of filial
affection. The public voice has praised, the public
voice has censured, and the world has long known
him as an author ; — let it be our pleasing task to
introduce him as a man.
Matthew Gregory Lewis was born in London,
on the 9th of July, in the year IJJ5. His father
was descended from an ancient family, and, at
the period of his marriage, held the post of De-
puty-Secretary at War. Besides extensive West
Indian property, the Lewis family were possessed
M. G. LEWIS. 7
of an estate in the immediate neighbourhood of
Attershaw, the seat of the Right Honourable Sir
Thomas Sewell, Bart., Master of the Rolls in the
reign of George III. An acquaintance thus
sprung up between the two families, which at
length led to their connexion, by the marriage of
Mr. Lewis with Frances Maria Sewell, Sir
Thomas's youngest daughter, afterwards the
mother of the subject of these memoirs.
Besides Mrs. Lewis, Sir Thomas Sewell had
another daughter, and several sons. Of the daugh-
ter we know little, but believe that at an early age,
an estrangement took place between herself and
family, and her subsequent fate is a sealed book.
The sons were, Thomas, who entered the army ;
John, an officer in the navy ; William, afterwards
one of the Six Clerks, and a magistrate of Sussex ;
George, who took holy orders, and afterwards mar-
ried a daughter of Sir William Young ; and Robert,
a barrister, who died Attorney-General of Jamaica.
The elder Lewis was an only son, but had
three sisters — Mrs. Blake, the widow of a West
Indian planter; another, married to the cele-
brated General Whitlocke, who in 1808 was tried
by a court-martial, and broke for his conduct
in Buenos Ayres ; the third, the wife of the late
General Brownrigg, for a long time Military
Secretary to the Duke of York. To many of
these, allusion is made by young Lewis in his
letters to his mother ; between whom and himself
there existed the greatest congeniality of senti-
ment ; but as her share of the correspondence does
not appear, we shall here give a brief sketch of
her character, and lay before the reader such por-
tions of her early history, as we have been able to
collect.
In her youthful years this lady was celebrated for
her great personal beauty, and even at a later
period of life was remarkable for a certain contour
dejeunesse — a natural delicacy of complexion and
sweetness of expression, which, with a courtly bear-
ing, an elegance of deportment, and unaffected
good-breeding, she retained to the last. A great
part of her girlhood was spent in the seclusion of
her father's fine estate of Attershaw, where she grew
up as blooming and artless as the simplest wild
rose that smiled beneath the forest shade of the
domain ; and, it may almost be said, with as little
culture ; for, in childhood, she was deprived of a
mother's care, and the habits and avocations of her
father and brothers afforded her but little com-
panionship.
This circumstance, combined with a native sim-
plicity of character, rendered her first introduction
M. G. LEWIS. 9
to the courtly circles of the metropolis a subject of
many amusing anecdotes. The following, which
she used herself to relate, occasioned at the
time, it would seem, much good-humoured raillery
among her acquaintance. On her presentation at
court, she became, from the novelty of her situation,
so much confused as entirely to forget the customary
etiquette of bending the knee to the sovereign.
George the Third, with that benevolent good
humour for which he was remarkable, gallantly
endeavoured to prevent the blunder from being
discovered, by saluting her ; whilst poor Fanny
stood gazing with the most naive surprise on the
face of the august personage, for some seconds after
he had bestowed this gracious token of royal recep-
tion on her blushing cheek.
Notwithstanding the mauvaise honte attending
her first appearance, Fanny Sewell was much
admired at court. She was mistress of most of the
female accomplishments of the day. In dancing
she eminently excelled, particularly in the old-
fashioned minuet, in which she is said to have re-
peatedly attracted the attention and the compli-
ments of Her Majesty Queen Charlotte.
Mrs. Lewis was a very youthful bride, and with-
out having any particular inclination for the gaieties
of fashionable life, she mingled freely in its rou-
10 MEMOIRS OF
tine, although she was perhaps induced to do so,
more in accordance with her husband's wishes,
than her own. That the dazzling ephemera of
worldly pomps, however, did not exclude more
serious thoughts, was evinced by a request which
she made to the then Bishop of London. " My
lord," said she, availing herself of a short private
conference, " there are some matters that I have
occasionally heard discussed, nay, disputed, upon
which I doubt not you can enlighten me ; for I
confess the subject has often been to me a source
of serious thought, and upon which I fear that I
have not received sufficient instruction. Will you
then oblige me by directing my attention to such
parts of holy writ, as may afford conviction of the
mission of our Saviour ?" When Mrs. Lewis re-
lated this anecdote, she used to add, that the
worthy prelate expressed his astonishment, not
more at the singularity of such a request, proceed-
ing from a young and lovely woman just entering
a career of splendid gaiety, than at the negligence
of those who had permitted a youthful mind to
remain uninformed upon a subject involving so
materially her eternal welfare ; and that, comply-
ing with her request, he observed, " Few young
married ladies would express anxiety on such a
subject, under circumstances so greatly calculated
M. G. LEWIS. 11
to exclude the thoughts of all matters but those of
the present hour."
Ere many years, Mrs. Lewis was the mother of
two sons and two daughters — Matthew, the eldest ;
Barrington, whose early death we shall hereafter
record ; Maria, lady of the present Sir Henry
Lushington, Bart. ; and Sophia, the late wife of
Colonel John Sheddon. Little Mat soon became
his mother's pet companion, and he accordingly
imbibed her tastes, ideas, and even expressions,
which he early acquired the habit of repeating with
amusing gravity.
Frequently present at portentous toilette de-
bates, he was always remarkably attentive to them,
and often amused visiters by the impression which
they made. On one occasion, Lady S having
called by appointment to take up Mrs. Lewis on
her way to the Opera-house, she was ushered into
the drawing-room, which was already occupied by
the little sentimentalist. " Well, Master Mat I"
said the lady, perceiving that the child gazed at
her dress, " I hope, sir, you approve ?"
The young gentleman shook his head in token of
dissent, and after a pause, observed, " My mamma
never wears a blue ribbon with a yellow head-dress."
" I declare," exclaimed the lady, laughing, " I
did not think of it. Your mamma is perfectly
12 MEMOIRS OF
right, Mat. But, come, now tell me how is she
dressed ? In all her diamonds, eh ?"
" No, no," replied Mat : " Fanny" — the familiar
appellation he usually gave his mother — " looks
very pretty, with nothing on her head (remem-
bering his mother's words), but a simple fold of
plain white tiffany."
Nor did his attention to the business of
the toilette end here, as the discomfitted Abi-
gail often discovered, when, on entering the
dressing-room of her mistress, she would find
him parading before the mirror, arrayed in a long
train, and loaded with all the gauze and feathers
that lay within his reach.
An instance of ludicrous mimicry is also related
of him. Being present at an evening concert,
after a tributary burst of applause succeeding the
performance of a celebrated composition that had
just enchanted the audience, a shrill, tiny voice was
heard from a remote corner to exclaim, in a most
critical accent, " That's a very fine movement I"
All eyes were instantly turned in the direction of
the speaker, and at last, amid the general mirth,
little Mat Lewis was discovered, wedged in among
a clique of grave, elderly professors.
Doubtless he must have had frequent oppor-
tunities of acquiring " the cant of criticism," for his
M. G. LEWIS. 13
mother, it seems, patronized musicians and com-
posers a la folie. She was in the habit of taking
musical lessons from all the eminent professors of
the day, and the contest of opinions among them
she occasionally described in a highly amusing
manner. Each was a bigot to his, or her, favourite
school of harmony, though their arguments would
sometimes run so high as to violate its laws ; and
many of these musical zealots would refuse to hold
converse with each other for weeks together.
Among the professors who had the constant entree
at her house, were the celebrated Wesleys (Samuel
and Charles), and the Knyvets, Harrison, and
Clementi ; the last of whom she described as a
young-looking man, with a little quaint pigtail,
seated quietly before the instrument, and, to all
appearance, perfectly indifferent to the movements
of his fingers, while every body around him stood
listening with silent fascination to the exquisite
touches of his skill. Under the tuition of this
distinguished musician, Mrs. Lewis arrived at a
greater proficiency in the art than is usually attained
by an unprofessional performer. Another of her
musical friends was the celebrated Reinhold, an
excellent musician, and a plain, hearty singer, who
excelled in the songs of " Hawthorn," in " Love
in a Village." When in good humour, he was
14 MEMOIRS OF
occasionally prevailed upon to remain until " the
people" were gone, that he might treat his fair
hostess, and her particular friends, with his bon
bouche of " Cease, rude Boreas !" in which, despite
his glorious bass, he never failed to electrify his
auditors, by giving the falsetto shriek of " five feet
water in the hold !"
Of all Mrs. Lewis's musical friends, however,
the Wesleys, at the period to which we refer,
seem to have stood the highest in her good graces.
She used to speak frequently of old Mrs. Wesley,
who died at the advanced age of one hundred, and
was much noticed by Queen Charlotte, before
whom she had the honour of singing " Pious
orgies," when upwards of seventy years of age,
clad in her primitive cap and apron, a style of
dress she never altered. Her two sons, Samuel
and Charles, had musical talents of the highest
order. The former was always considered to be
" the genius ;" on which account, as well as on
that of continued ill-health, he was very much
indulged by his mother, and, in consequence, be-
came exceedingly capricious and self-willed. The
young musician, it is said, when a party was
invited to hear his extraordinary performance,
would suddenly go to bed ; and the good-natured
Charles, who spoke much in the quick manner of
M. G. LEWIS. 15
George the Third, would place his little rotund
person before the instrument, exclaiming, "Dear
me ! dear me ! — exceedingly sorry ; but Sam very
ill, you see ; so, suppose I must do my best, — eh,
eh ? — Hope you'll excuse — eh ?" — and thus he
would take his seat ; his chubby hands executing
miracles, and his jocund eyes twinkling with in-
spiration.
Mr. De Camp, the father of the late Mrs.
Charles Kemble, was also a great favourite of
Mrs. Lewis, and elicited her particular approba-
tion, not more for his musical talent than for the
undeviating modesty of his deportment. He was
in the habit of announcing himself by a solitary
rap at the street-door, a practice regarding which
she once thought proper, good-humouredly, to lec-
ture him. " My dear sir," said she, " I am told
that you actually come to my door with a single
knock. Let me beg of you to alter this. You
are far too modest, Mr. De Camp : there are
many, I assure you, much your inferiors, who are
so furious in signifying their arrival, that one is
apt to think this is the only way they have of
making a noise in the world. Be assured, talent
is often overlooked in this great town, for want of
a little clatter preceding it."
De Camp was held in much estimation as a
10 MEMOIRS OF
musician, and was brother to Madame Simonet,
the celebrated dancer at the Opera-house. His
real name was De Fleury ; and he was descended
from a younger branch of a noble family of that
name in France, which, like many others, had
been ruined at the Revolution. Allured by the
flattering prospects held out to him by several
English noblemen then resident abroad, he quitted
Germany for England, where, although his great
musical talents were generally acknowledged, his
excessive modesty and unassuming diffidence — too
often the attendants of genius — were unfortunate
bars to his success. He died at the* early age of
thirty.
Mrs. Lewis, however, continued to be a great
friend and patroness to De Camp's accomplished
daughter, whose death has occurred since these
pages were commenced, and who appeared to have
been eminently endowed with many of the graces
of character which had so distinguished her father.
Calling one day at Mrs. Lewis's cottage, at Old-
Brompton, the latter, speaking of her visitor's
approaching benefit, observed, " Mrs. Kemble,
your well-appreciated merits have now rendered
you far above the reach of my poor services, and
I am happy to think that you do not need
friends."
M. G. LEWIS. 17
" Ah ! madam, those who remember friends,
must always acknowledge that they need them,"
was the modest and grateful reply.
Among the musical host surrounding Mrs.
Lewis, we had nearly forgotten one whose per-
formances, although those of an amateur, made
her worthy of being ranked with the most eminent
of the profession. We allude to the celebrated
Mrs. Arabella Mitz, who on one occasion had the
honour of being accompanied on the violin by one
of the royal dukes. This clever and very viva-
cious lady was an intimate acquaintance of Mrs.
Lewis, and a great patroness of Charles Wesley.
They were of the favoured few admitted to her
musical sanctum, where, in a morning, she might
be found, with her ruffles pinned back, in all the
fervour and furious rattle of hard practice ; whilst
her attentive, bustling shadow, Mr. Jerry Crane,
felt only too happy at being permitted to turn a
leaf, or hunt for a music-book. To be sure, this
worthy fanatic sported at the same time a violin,
over which he now and then flourished a bow, and it
is therefore probable he might occasionally have
indulged the notion that he was accompanying;
but however this might be, it was all among
friends, and the whole coterie went on most har-
moniously together.
VOL. i. c
18 MEMOIRS OF
Mrs. Lewis was extremely nearsighted ; and
owing to this defect, once ran the risk of making
a very ridiculous blunder at one of her musical
soirees. She had secured the professional assist-
ance of Signor Pozzi — then recently arrived — for
an evening concert at her own house ; the pre-
dilection for foreign artists, among persons of
rank, being a mania no less of that period, than
of our own. The soiree was numerously attended,
and the lady having predetermined to make her
golden acknowledgments in a delicate and hand-
some manner, before the signer should have made
his escape, contrived, at the close of the concert,
to meander her way through the throng of guests ;
till at last she congratulated herself on perceiving
a dark-whiskered foreigner standing near the or-
chestra, who, she decided, must be Pozzi. She
accordingly approached him with a gracious smile,
having the douceur folded up, ready to be slipped
into his hand, accompanied by some appropriate
compliment ; when, at the moment, some one
accosted the supposed Pozzi with, " My dear
count !" and they walked away together, just in
time to prevent a ludicrous and perplexing result
to Mrs. Lewis. She used, laughingly, to observe,
that the noble foreigner, having arrived in this
country only a short time before, might have been
M. G. LEWIS. 19
led to form a very singular opinion respecting
English manners and hospitality.
We must here notice an event, which not only
created a great sensation at the time, but strikingly
illustrates — although by no means in a favourable
light — the moral state of English society at that
period. We allude to the tragical fate of Miss
Ray, a young lady of great beauty and accom-
plishments, who then, as is well known, lived
under the protection of Lord Sandwich. Not-
withstanding the scandal attached to her situation,
such was the general propriety of her conduct, so
interesting were her manners and demeanour, and
so various were her acquirements — particularly in
music, wherein she singularly excelled — aided, no
doubt, by the deference considered due to her
aristocratic, and, in most respects, rigidly punctili-
ous protector, that they gained her the notice and
goodwill of many respectable individuals.
It appears that Mrs. Lewis dined at Lord Sand-
wich's, in company with Miss Ray, on the very
day on the evening of which she made her fatal
visit to Covent-garden Theatre. During dinner,
it was observed by several of the guests, that Miss
Ray seemed unusually depressed in spirits. Soon
after the ladies had retired to the drawing-room,
she modestly expressed her regret at having
20 MEMOIRS OF
formed an engagement for that evening to attend
the theatre, but promised to return as soon as
the principal performance was over.
When the carriage was announced, and she was
adjusting her dress, Mrs. Lewis happened to
make some remark on a beautiful rose which Miss
Ray wore in her bosom. Just as the words were
uttered, the flower fell to the ground. She im-
mediately stooped to regain it ; but as she picked
it up, the red leaves scattered themselves on the
carpet, and the stalk alone remained in her hands.
The poor girl, who had been depressed in spirits
before, was evidently affected by this incident,
and said, in a slightly faltering voice, " I trust I
am not to consider this .as an evil omen !"* But
soon rallying, she expressed to Mrs. Lewis, in a
cheerful tone, her hope that they would meet
again after the theatre ; — a hope, alas ! which it
was decreed should not be realized.
Of Miss Ray's origin the accounts are contra-
dictory. Some assert that she was the daughter
of a farmer or peasant in Hertfordshire ; others,
that her father kept a staymaker's shop in Holy-
well-street, Strand. But Lord Sandwich, as is
* In certain districts of Italy, the red rose is considered an em-
blem of early death ; and it is an evil omen to scatter its leaves
on the ground.
M. G. LEWIS. 21
well known, first noticed her, when very young, at
a shop in Tavistock-street, where she served at
the counter ; and, being struck with the intellectual
expression of her countenance, as well as its sin-
gular beauty, took charge of her future educa-
tion, engaging for her the best masters in every
female accomplishment, especially music, which
formed his own favourite pursuit at leisure hours.
Her docility and progress exceeded even the most
sanguine expectations ; so that Miss Ray was soon
qualified to " come out" as a singer, at his lord-
ship's concert parties ; at which, malgre his usual
formality of manner, he chose, oddly enough, to
perform on the kettle-drum. The young debut-
ante was applauded from the outset ; and the
world, in those days, did not express much wonder
that one so passionately fond^of music as Lord
Sandwich, should invite her to reside permanently
at his house. Indeed, their great disparity of
years, his lordship's grave manners, and the scru-
pulous propriety and modesty of demeanour always
displayed on the part of the young lady, were
almost enough to silence the tongue of slander
itself.
Accordingly, we find Mrs, HinchclhTe, the lady
of a right reverend prelate, thus expressing her-
self in favour of Miss Ray : " I was really hurt
22 MEMOIRS OF
to sit opposite to her ; to mark her discreet con-
duct, and yet to find it improper to notice her.
She was so assiduous to please — was so very excel-
lent, yet so unassuming! I was quite charmed
with her ; yet a seeming cruelty to her took off
the pleasure of my evening."*
We shall add another passage, which is of the
same tendency. " Miss Ray, in her situation,
was a pattern of discretion ; for when a lady of
rank, between one of the acts of the oratorio,
advanced to converse with her, she expressed her
embarrassment ; and Lord Sandwich, turning pri-
vately to a friend, said, 'As you are well ac-
quainted with that lady, I wish you would give
her a hint that there is a boundary-line drawn in
my family, which I do not wish to see exceeded :
such a trespass might occasion the overthrow of all
our music meetings/ "t
From these two extracts may at once be com-
prehended the painful situation of this poor girl
under Lord Sandwich's roof. Universally admired
for her beauty and acquirements, she felt that to
his bounty she was indebted for the latter, for with-
out it she could never have obtained education.
She was indebted to him also for the use of a
* Cradock's Memoirs, vol. i., p. 117. f Ibid,
M. G. LEWIS. 23
splendid mansion, equipages, dress, and all the
other advantages which she enjoyed. But the no-
tice she inevitably excited — the good-will which
she constantly attracted — were to her a source of
annoyance rather than of pleasure ; and too well
did she know, that by entering into familiar con-
verse with any one of his guests, she ran the risk
of incurring his displeasure. That she was deeply
grateful to her benefactor, her whole conduct dis-
played ; but to argue that there was any mutual
attachment of a different character subsisting be-
tween his lordship and herself, would be nearly as
absurd as to think that the wealth of " auld Robin
Gray" could efface the remembrance of "young
Jamie at the sea." But, for a state of society like
that of England, the worst was, that beyond the
expenses of her education, dresses, and the use of
his house, Miss Ray had no provision or settle-
ment whatever from his lordship ; and whilst, ac-
cording to Mr. Cradock's statement, an offer had been
privately made to her of 3000/. and a free benefit
by the managers of the Opera-house, she durst not
even consult his lordship on the subject, fearing
probably that he might look on her wish to be in-
dependent as a proof of ingratitude, and afterwards
even become her enemy.
While living in this state of dependence upon
2 MEMOIRS OF
Lord Sandwich's favour, and almost negative bounty,
Miss Ray made the acquaintance of a gentleman
named Hackman, who, although a person of humble
origin, held a commission in the army,- and was
introduced at the house of his lordship by a brother
officer, Major Reynolds. From the first interview
it appears he was enamoured of Miss Ray, and,
it is said that they afterwards kept up a pri-
vate correspondence, and that the attachment was
mutual. From the wish to be in circumstances
which might enable him to enter the married state
with prudence, Hackman exchanged the army for
the church, and contrived to obtain the living of
Wyverton, in Norfolk.
But while these plans were in progress, Lord
Sandwich — though it is alleged he then knew
nothing of the attachment or correspondence —
found reasons which induced him henceforth to
place his favourite under the care of a sort of
duenna, and to adopt methods of surveillance.
Miss Ray was thus precluded from allowing her
lover any further encouragement or communication,
even had she been disposed to do so ; whilst he
rashly ascribed to an entire change in her affections
that result which proceeded from compulsion.
The catastrophe to this fatal passion of Hackman
for Miss Ray was appalling in the extreme, and
M. G. LEWIS.
took place but a few hours after the ominous in-
cident of the rose. The unhappy young lady went,
as she proposed, to Covent-garden Theatre, where,
it would seem, Hackman previously knew she was
going. Already exasperated by Miss Ray's sup-
posed coldness, her lover sought, it seems, to
feed his motives of revenge by intemperance ; for,
during the stage performance, he repeatedly ad-
journed from the theatre to the adjoining Bedford
Coffee-house, " to drink brandy-and-water." At
the door of this tavern he stationed himself, to
watch for Miss Ray, as she descended by the
private way into the piazza. Here he awaited the
approach of his victim. At last she appeared,
walking between two friends, a gentleman arid
a lady, in search of her carriage. Mastered by a
demoniacal impulse — the excitement of liquor
having roused his before- exasperated feelings to
absolute frenzy — Hackman drew forth a pistol, and
shot Miss Ray through the head ! The madman
instantly directed another pistol against himself;
but the ball only grazed his head, and his efforts at
suicide were rendered ineffectual by the by-
standers. His life afterwards paid the just penalty
of his crime, to the offended laws of his country.
On the event of Miss Ray's assassination being
20 MEMOIRS OF
conveyed to Lord Sandwich, he stood for a while
as if petrified, till, suddenly seizing a candle, he ran
up stairs, threw himself on a bed, and, in an agony,
exclaimed, " Leave me for a while to myself — I
could have borne any thing but this !"
Cold, selfish, and formal, as this nobleman had
hitherto appeared, it was impossible for him to
avoid being cut to the heart by such a catastrophe ;
and, although he lived for thirteen years afterwards,
he never completely recovered from the shock.
The effect which the dreadful intelligence had
upon Mrs. Lewis, was also severe. Naturally of
a warm heart, and alive to suffering, the peculiar
manner in which she herself seemed, in some de-
gree, connected with the event, from the incident
of the rose — together with her great regard for
Miss Ray, and the willing sympathy she had always
paid her on account of her peculiar situation —
brought the matter more immediately under her
notice, and her regret for the victim nearer to her
heart. It was long ere she regained her wonted
spirits ; and, even to the day of her death, any
mention of this unfortunate young person never
failed to change her gayest mood into one of pen-
siveness and melancholy.
But, leaving this frightful scene, to which we
M. G. LEWIS. 27
were led by the incident of the scattered rose, it is
full time that we should return to the proper sub-
ject of these memoirs.
Before closing the first chapter, we shall add a
few more notices respecting Lewis's childhood.
Those who condemn such memoranda should re-
member that, in the language of the poet,
" the child is father of the man ;" and we record
only such incidents of the nursery as are, in some
respects, indicative of the qualities of his rnaturer
years.
" Mamma," said the child one day, " if I were
to die, wouldn't you be sorry ? Wouldn't you cry,
and say, Poor little Mat ! he's gone — poor little
boy ! — he loved me /" On another occasion, when
some temporary reverses had caused apprehension
of pecuniary embarrassment, his mother was sitting
in a pensive mood, and her younger son, Barrington,
having asked, in baby accents, if she would " take
him out in the coach ?" — " Oh, Barry," she replied,
" I am afraid we shall have no coach now." Mat-
thew, who sat reading at a little distance, looked
up, and regarded her for a moment in a fixed
attitude, then, approaching gently, kissed her
cheek; and, without uttering a word, resumed
his seat and previous occupation.
Such, with many others which we pass over,
MEMOIRS OF
were the touching indications, at a very early age,
that our " Edwin " was, indeed, " no vulgar boy."
Being the constant companion of his mother — a
timid and sensitive woman, whose youthful appear-
ance, when he grew up into boyhood, caused her
not unfrequently to 'be looked upon as his sister-
he gradually partook of her own romantic tem-
perament, and somewhat undecided character.
Mrs. Lewis's reading was chiefly confined to novels
and other works of imagination. But among the
subjects of her more serious attention, it is on re-
cord that Glanville's work on witchcraft was an
especial favourite ; and it may easily be supposed,
that when his mother's chosen volume fell in his
way, he often contemplated with that horror which
attends absolute credence, the copper-plate of the
"devil beating his drum" over "worthy Mr.
Mompesson's house."
" For in the wax of a soft infant's memory,
Things horrible sink deep, and sternly settle."
This, if we remember rightly, being among the
illustrations of Glanville's grave repertory.
Besides the above accidental traits of his educa-
tion, it deserves especially to be mentioned, that a
considerable portion of his childhood was spent at
a very ancient mansion, called Stanstead Hall, the
family seat of a relation on the father's side, of
M. G. LEWIS. 29
which edifice one wing had long been uninhabited,
and, as a matter of course, was said to be haunted.
It would appear, however, that it had undoubtedly
been a tenement for " questionable shapes," at the
" witching iiour," particularly one magnificent
apartment, called the " Cedar room," into which,
after dusk, no inducement could have led the do-
mestics of the mansion to enter. In maturer years,
Lewis has frequently been heard to declare, that
at night, when he was conducted past that gloomy
chamber, on the way to his dormitory, he would
cast a glance of terror over his shoulder, expecting
to see the huge and strangely-carved folding-doors
fly open, and disclose some of those fearful shapes
that afterwards resolved themselves into the ghast-
ly machinery of his works. To such juvenile
feelings he ascribed some of the most striking
scenes in " The Castle Spectre ;" and, no doubt,
these and other circumstances combined, supplied
many threads of that magic web from which, at no
distant period, the young author (for his two most
popular works, " The Monk," and the above drama,
were written before he was twenty years of age),
derived his " mingled shades of joy and woe," and
gave that wild colouring to his productions, de-
scribed with such severity of wit by Lord Byron,
in the following lines :
30 MEMOIRS OF
" Oh ! wonder-working Lewis, Monk or Bard,
Who fain wouldst make Parnassus a churchyard ;
Lo ! wreaths of yew, not laurel, bind thy brow ;
Thy muse a sprite, Apollo's sexton thou !
Whether on ancient tombs thou tak'st thy stand,
By gibbering spectres hail'd, thy kindred band,
Or tracest chaste descriptions on thy page,
To please the females of our modest age —
All hail, M. P. ! from whose infernal brain
Thin-sheeted phantoms glide, a grisly train ;
At whose command " grim women" throng in crowds,
And kings of fire, of water, and of clouds ;
With " small gray men," wild yagers, and what not,
To crown with honour thee and Walter Scott !
Again, all hail ! if tales like thine may please,
Saint Luke alone can vanquish the disease.
Even Satan's self with thee might dread to dwell,
And in thy skull discern a deeper hell."*
Of Mrs. Lewis's four children, Matthew, in
personal appearance, resembled her the least ; and
in his Preface to the " Monk," he has described
himself as being of
" Graceless form and dwarfish stature."
But whatever truth might have been in this, cer-
tain it is, that his intelligence and vivacity made
him as interesting in childhood, as, in after-life,
his literary and colloquial talents proved com-
manding and attractive. Maria, his eldest sister,
* English Bards and Scotch Reviewers.
M. G. LEWIS. 31
was a sensible and highly-accomplished girl, of
great personal beauty ; and Sophia, the youngest,
at the period to which we allude, was a light-
hearted, fairy-like little creature. In her girlhood
she sung admirably ; and touched the guitar with
taste and effect. She had a turn for repartee,
and bordered somewhat on the character of a belle
esprit. In early womanhood, she hazarded the
translation of a French work in the burlesque
style, called "The Hero," and filled up a few
pages in vindication of the " Monk," for which
good office her brother, it seems, was ungrateful
enough to be displeased ; for he entertained some
degree of prejudice against female authorship.
But the young lady never publicly acknowledged
this literary trespass, and it was whispered only
to a few of her particular friends.
To her piquant manner of singing the ballad
of "He loves and he rides away," it owed its first
popularity. Lewis had written it expressly for
his sister ; and when singing it to the guitar, she
was the very " fairy of the ring," in her own little
circle of fashion. While a young man, the poet
Leyden became fascinated with her playful wit,
and addressed many of his earlier effusions to the
graceful Sophia, Through the kindness of a mu-
tual friend of the parties, we are enabled to pre-
MEMOIRS OF
sent our readers with the following verses, written
by Ley den to the fair songstress, some time
before he went abroad :
I find, with grief, the moderns use,
Such is the Poet's wayward doom,
To invocate some ancient muse,
And dangle after Greece and Rome.
When any thing is sung or said,
In doleful ditty, tale, or story,
'Tis still some bright Aonian maid
That bears away the fame and glory.
Such nymphs are too divine and thin
To move my fancy in their duty ;
I love a little bone and skin,
And need not mention wit and beauty.
Besides, in foreign lands to roam
In search of damsels quite exotic,
And leave our ladies fair at home,
To me appears not patriotic.
It would my conscience too lie hard on,
Should I invoke a muse but thee ;
So therefore grant the Bard thy pardon,
Or — what the better wilt thou be ?
For bards, like ladies vex'd with spleen,
In contradiction pleasure find,
When softest, smoothest rhymes are seen
To leave the lagging sense behind.
M. G. LEWIS. 33
Yet, why should spleen to thee be known,
Whose purer soul, superior far,
Shines in a lustre of its own,
A mildly-beaming morning star ?
But hide not in eclipse thine eye,
That darts its humid starry rays ;
Why shouldst thou force the bard to buy
A pair of spectacles to gaze ?
Smile, like the ancient Grecian muse,
Bright inspiration on the poet ;
For smiling was the ancient use,
And old Anacreon can show it.
By powers which thou hast dared asperse,
With dark and moody names of madness,*
By all the tinkling powers of verse,
Seldom allied in me with sadness ;
By all my hardship's wither'd bays,
And by my nettle crown of satire,
Thou shalt inspire the poet's lays,
Unfit to be his subject-matter.
Oh ! heaven preserve the unlucky bard,
Who takes thee for his subject-matter!
The poet's case is surely hard,
When 'tis impossible to flatter.
VOL. I. D
34 MEMOIRS OF
" But hark !" cries Campbell, man of wit,
" There goes a thundering paradox :
He'll swear next lines thine eyes are fit
For nothing: but a tinder-box."
And lo ! replies the modest bard,
Thou man of wit I seize the hint :
Eyes brightest shine when hearts are hard,
And flash the sparkles from the flint.
But, after all, sagacious youth,
How have you proved the contradiction ?
Full well you know it is not truth,
In which the poet shines, but fiction.
Then, Muse, Sophia, glorious name !
Before invoking Cupid's bow,
Come sing an ancient poet's fame,
Who lived some hundred years ago.
Ye bards, the dirge of Rufus raise,
Who wit untamed possessed in plenty,
Alive he never sought your praise,
Nor cared for any man in twenty.
Of reading books he made no end,
Huge volumes musty and moth-eaten,
Cobwebs and dust did only tend
His never-ceasing power to sweeten.
M. G. LEWIS. 35
What strange events had come to pass,
He knew, provided it were ancient —
And many a thing that never was,
Which some old lying fool had mention'd.
Tis true, it seldom was his mood
To modern towns to pay attention ;
But every town before the flood
He knew, and eke that town's dimensions.
All lies he knew that ancients say,
And in his memory used to store them,
He did not know the present day,
But knew all things that were before him.
Because he knew his passions fierce,
A lady's gentle soul might shock,
He never trusted them in verse,
But kept them under key and lock.
But, pester'd by his heart so stout,
That oft kept beating in his breast,
One day he fairly took it out,
And closed it in an iron chest.
A sorceress, one luckless day,
Her speech with magic wit replenish 'd,
Stole the enchanted key away,
And when he look'd — his heart had vanish'd !
D
36
MEMOIRS OF
Of so extraordinary an individual as Doctor
John Leyden some brief reminiscences may not be
unacceptable. He was of humble birth, — with no
advantages at the outset, and first distinguished
himself by his classical attainments when attend-
ing the Edinburgh University. But amid the
daily tasks and bustle of a town life, the remem-
brance of the scenery to which he had before been
accustomed, continued to haunt him. By nature
a poet, he still heard, or " seemed to hear," the
murmurings of the far distant
" Teviot, Tweed, or Tyne,"
and the rustling of the breeze through the shades
of his native forests. These recollections he ex-
pressed eloquently, in a poem entitled " Scenes of
Infancy," which recommended him to the notice
of Sir Walter Scott, whose tact and discrimination
enabled him to perceive, from the first, that
Leyden was not merely a poet, but possessed a
strong comprehensive mind, unflinching courage,
and indefatigable industry. Sir Walter was then
engaged in historical and antiquarian researches —
in transcribing from ancient MSS. and collecting
old ballads ; in all which pursuits the author of
the " Scenes of Infancy" joined with the utmost
enthusiasm, and a friendly intercourse took place,
M. G. LEWIS. 37
which continued uninterruptedly, till Leyden's de-
parture in the service of the East India Company.
The predilections that he was qualified to ob-
tain high honours in the company's service were
soon fulfilled. By no student (not even excepting
Sir William Jones) had been exemplified more
fervent and successful perseverance than Leyden
showed, in acquiring the oriental languages in all
their various dialects ; and he appeared on the
high road both to fame and fortune. But with
that high spirit, and invincible courage, which
were inherent in his character, he readily accepted
an appointment in the pestilential island of Java,
at a time when his constitution was already shaken
by the effects of a warm climate, and still more by
his unremitting application. The result was, that
he became the victim of a malignant species of
fever which then raged on the island ; thus realiz-
ing his own predictions, in one of the most beau-
tiful and affecting of his poems, an " Ode to
an Indian Gold Coin ; " — from which we shall
certainly not be blamed for transcribing the fol-
lowing exquisite stanzas :
Fade, day-dreams sweet, from memory fade !
The perish'd bliss of youth's first prime,
That once so bright on fancy play'd,
Revives no more in after time !
38 MEMOIRS OF
Far from my sacred natal clime,
I haste to an untimely grave,
The daring thoughts that soar'd sublime
Are sunk in ocean's southern wave.
* * * *
For thee, for thee, vile yellow slave,
I left a heart that loved me true !
I cross'd the tedious ocean wave,
To roam in climes unkind and new.
The cold wind of the stranger blew,
Chill on my withered heart — the grave.
Dark and untimely, met my view,
And all for thee, vile yellow slave I
Ha \ com'st thou now so late, to mock
A wanderer's banish'd heart forlorn ?
Now that his frame the lightning shock
Of sun-rays tipp'd with death has borne ;
From love, from friendship, country torn,
To memory's fond regrets the prey !
Vile slave ! thy yellow dross I scorn : —
Go, mix thee with thy kindred clay.
Barrington, Mrs. Lewis's younger son, of the
whole family, resembled her most, having the same
soft blue eye, and delicate, peachlike complexion ;
the same generous and unsuspecting disposition ;
together, alas ! with all that fatal docility, which,
had he lived, might have rendered him an easy
prey to the designing. " Whom the gods love, die
young;" and this boy, by an early death, was
spared many of those sufferings to which, in all
M. G, LEWIS. 39
probability, his sensitive nature would have pecu-
liarly exposed him. There is frequent allusion
made to him in Matthew's early letters, and it
appears by them that his brother continued long
in a delicate state of health. This was occasioned
by an accident, which happened to him when a
mere child. Amusing himself in the garden one
day with a rolling-stone, his strength being un-
equal to the exertion, he injured his spine, and, in
consequence, became deformed. He appears to
have been much beloved by Matthew, who felt his
early death with the most acute sorrow ; and even in
after years, he never recurred to the subject withr
out emotion, nor mentioned his brother without
alluding to those qualities of heart which had dis-
tinguished him, and by which his memory was so
painfully endeared. Yet Lewis lived to look
upon an early grave as a calamity which might
almost be preferred to many of those evils which,
in after years, imbittered his cup of life ; — and,
even amid the highly-prized acquisitions of wealth
and fame, he acknowledged the justice of the poet's
lines —
" Weep not for those whom the veil of the tomb,
In life's happy morning, hath hid from our eyes,
Ere sin threw a blight o'er the spirit's young bloom,
Or earth had profaned what was meant for the skies."
MEMOIRS OF
CHAPTER II.
Boyhood — Westminster school — Histrionip talents— Domestic mat-
ters— Removal to Oxford — Paris — First literary attempts.
AT an early period of his boyhood, young
Lewis was placed at the preparatory school of the
Rev. Dr. Fountaine, the father of Mrs. Arabella
Mitz, whose musical talents have been already
noticed. Poor Matthew severely felt this first
separation from his mother, and, of course, did not
relish the change from the indulgences of home,
to the discipline of a boarding-school.
We shall here give a childish, but not uninte-
resting anecdote, related by himself in maturer
years, which, however trifling, serves at least to
show that the boy's early religious education had
not been neglected. On the night of his arrival
at school, wearied and dispirited by the torment-
ing reception which is sure to await " a new boy,"
poor little Mat, with a sense of desolation he had
M. G. LEWIS, 41
never before felt, on retiring to his neat white-
curtained crib, in the dormitory appointed for him,
added to his usual infant orison the following
words : — " God bless me now, in a strange place,
among strange boys, away from mamma, with
nobody to love me !" And having so commended
himself to heaven, the little fellow lay down and
sobbed himself to sleep.
Dr. Fountaine, it seems, was an old friend of
Lewis's family, and a frequent guest at the table of
his father, and also of his grandfather, Sir Thomas
Sewell. It chanced, on one occasion, when his
pupil was present, that the gizzard wing of a fowl
was sent into the kitchen, to be converted into what
is usually termed a "devil." The schoolboy sat
silently anticipating the pleasure of partaking this
strangely-named dainty ; but, unfortunately, on its
reappearance, the whole of the piquant morsel
was helped away, without little Matthew obtaining
a share. This was too much for boyish endurance,
and the young gentleman loudly expressed his
chagrin. — " There, there, man I" said his good-
humoured tutor, putting the corresponding, or
"liver," wing on the boy's plate; — "take up with
a good liver now, and be content; you II taste
the devil soon enough!" From this time, the
" devil," and a " good liver," became a standing
42 MEMOIRS OF
joke, whenever Matthew was present at a dinner-
party, and he used afterwards to relate the anecdote
with much gout, as a very questionable attempt at
wit on the part of his early instructor.
Having remained under Dr. Fountaine's care
for a few years, young Lewis was removed to
Westminster school, where he continued until he
went to Oxford. Of the progress of his studies at
Westminster, little record is afforded us. We
learn, however, that he particularly distinguished
himself as an actor, in what was called the " Town
Boy's Play." He enacted Falconbridge, in
" King John," and My Lord Duke, in " High
Life Below Stairs," with great applause. His
histrionic talents seem, indeed, to have been of
first-rate order ; and, we are informed by one who
knew him intimately, and had frequently witnessed
his efforts in private theatricals at a later period of
life, that if an expression of feeling, natural as in-
tense— if the reading of a perfect scholar, im-
bodying conceptions no less just than vivid — could
have compensated for the physical defects of voice
and stature, his rank in life would rather have been
matter of regret, as depriving the public of talents
equally suited for effective stage representation, as
for dramatic invention.
These powers he often displayed, when con-
M. G. LEWIS. 43
fiding to his mother and a few select friends, some
dramatic embryo of his scarcely-fledged muse, after
the little quiet dinners given at her house. When
sipping his wine, and being " i' the vein," he
would burst forth with occasional snatches of Lear,
Cordelia, Wolsey, or such Shaksperian passages
as his memory happened to supply. Speak-
ing of " Troilus and Cressida," the young dra-
matist observed, that, in his estimation, it had but
one redeeming passage ; which, suddenly starting
up, he would quote with enthusiasm : —
" Rouse yourself! — and the weak wanton cupid
Shall from your neck unclose his amorous fold,
And, like a dew-drop from the lion's mane,
Be shook to air."
Sometimes, while the little domestic audience
were yet hushed by the intense interest which he
imparted to his recitation of " Forget and Forgive,"
or Lear's touching question —
" I think this lady should be my child Cordelia;"
or his inimitable utterance of
" Oh, sir, you must not kneel T
the spell would be dissolved by the gentle voice
of his gratified mother, in her quiet but earnest
manner, detailing to the nearest listener, how
Matthew, when a mere child, had astonished her
44 MEMOIRS OF
on returning one evening from the theatre, by re-
peating nearly the whole of Miss Bellamy's cele-
brated scene in " Cleone ;" and, she used to add,
" the boy really imitated the actress's shriek with
such thrilling accuracy, that she never could forget
her feelings at the moment."
While such were the pleasing reminiscences of
the delighted mother, the subject of them would,
perhaps, have fallen again into his favourite musing
attitude — his elbow resting upon the table, and
his forefinger curved over his brow — as, totally
unconscious of what was passing, he endeavoured
to recall some quotation, or air, that had struck
his fancy.
Leaving Westminster, young Lewis became a
student of Christ Church, Oxford, where a wider
field was opened for the exercise of his abilities.
From this college, many of the earlier letters to his
mother were written. And, to account for certain
passages which occur in the correspondence, it is
necessary to state in this place, that during the
time he was at Westminster, a separation had been
effected between his parents. On the causes which
led to this event it is needless to enlarge ; our wish
is to touch as lightly as possible on a subject, the
details of which would hardly afford entertainment
to any right-feeling mind.
M. G. LEWIS. 45
That the tempers of Mr. and Mrs. Lewis were
incompatible with their mutual happiness, there
can be no doubt. The one was all gentleness and
complacency, even to a fault, and was greatly
admired and sought after ; the other, on the con-
trary, although firm in his friendships, was yet
stern in his purposes, and implacable in his resent-
ments. Misunderstandings and jealousies, there-
fore, arose. The daughters, as well as the younger
son, were of too tender an age to interfere at this
critical period : — Matthew, however, did — with
how little success the result painfully demon-
strated. Without compromising the proper feel-
ings of duty and respect towards one parent, he
almost idolized the other ; and in the undeviating
constancy of his regard, through " good report
and evil report," during the long years of his
mother's estrangement from the family circle, she
experienced the dearest solace of a parent, the
bestowal of which adds the highest grace to the
character of her son.
Mrs. Lewis withdrew to France at this melan-
choly juncture ; and while there, a constant cor-
respondence was kept up between herself and
Matthew, through whom she received information
as to the well being of her other children. It will
be seen from some of the earlier letters, that Mrs.
46 MEMOIRS OF
Lewis had made many complaints of poverty, to
relieve which, seemed to be the constant thought
of the young collegian. Justice, however, com-
pels us to state, that Mrs. Lewis's allowance from
her husband was a very handsome one ; and there-
fore, most of her pecuniary embarrassments must
have been either ideal, or have arisen from a want
of due management on her part. But in extenu-
ation of this, it should be borne in mind, that she
had been hitherto in a great measure unaccustomed
to think and act for herself: her life from an
early period, like that of the butterfly, had been
passed amid sunshine and flowers. The lighted
drawing-room, and the courtly guest-chamber,
were unfitting schools for the adversities of the
world ; and when the hour of trial came, it is more
a subject for pity than surprise, that the self-exiled
mother too frequently imbittered her son's plea-
sures by details of her sufferings, and drained his
resources to supply those petty luxuries, which, to
a person of her habits and education, were deemed
of as vital importance as the air she breathed.
But from whatever cause these temporary em-
barrassments arose, they called forth in Lewis's
heart the finest feelings of which human nature is
capable. Had the young student abounded in
the world's wealth, the sacrifices he made would
M. G, LEWIS. 47
have been less striking, although the motives
might have been equally amiable. But when we
see a young man just entering the world, de-
priving himself of those pleasures so natural to his
age and position in society, for the purpose of
administering to the wants of a mother — whose
slightest wishes he not only gratified, but strove
to anticipate — it must be confessed that this era in
his life presents as beautiful a picture of filial
affection, as imagination could depict in the pages
of romance. We shall now introduce the letters,
the first of which is dated from Christ Church,
Oxford.
" Friday, 1st April, 1791.
" MY DEAR MOTHER,
" You might be certain, that if I had received
your letter I should have written to you before,
since I knew, that when you were ill, the assurance
of affection would be doubly acceptable. But the
stupid rascals at the post-office mislaid your letter,
and it was some time before they could find it.
However, the moment I had it, I sat down to
assure you that nothing but ignorance should have
prevented my writing to you. But now I have
sat down I have resolved to write you a very short
letter ; for I have at present so much to do (as
48 MEMOIRS OF
this is the time when we are examined), that I
have not a moment unemployed. I say I have
resolved to write you a very short letter ; but
whether my regard for you will not oblige me to
break my resolution, I will not answer.
You gave me pain by saying that every body
had forgot you. I thought my constant attention
would have exempted me, at least, from the accu-
sation. My poor Barrington has but too good a
reason for not writing to you ; his illness, I am
sorry to say, continues to grow upon him, and the
least exertion does him harm. This is what I am
informed ; for as he is not able to come to town,
and I do not find it possible to go to Chatham, it
is long, very long, since I saw him. Indeed, I
am so selfish as now hardly to wish it, and for his
own sake as much as my own ; since to see him in
pain would distress me, and my melancholy would
only contribute to make him uneasy. However,
I write to him very frequently, though he is not
permitted to answer me. I. need not tell you
(and yet it will give you pleasure tx) hear it)
that he is gratified in every wish. Your letter
must have given him a great deal of pleasure, for
the highest satisfaction he now has is to receive
letters, and I am sure, therefore, you will write
to him again immediately.
M. G. LEWIS. 49
" I need not tell you how much, how very much,
concerned I am for your illness, and it affords me
a fresh obligation to my father. I shudder to
think of what would have been your situation had
he refused my request.
" Without money, without friends, sick in a fo-
reign country ! Oh, my mother ! the remem-
brance of you being in pain and sorrow often
clouds the pleasures I enjoy, and I hardly conceive
myself justified in partaking amusements, when
you, perhaps, maybe in want of common comforts.
God bless you, my dear mother, and may you
soon return to this country ; where, whatever
happens, you may at least have those you love, and
who love you, near to assist you. Yet, unless you
return very soon, I fear it will not be in my power
to see you for some time. I shall go to town on
April the 15th, and return on the 4th, and then
shall not be in London until Christmas, as I intend
passing the intermediate vacation on the continent.
But, wherever I am, it will make me easier to think
that you are among your countrymen, and where
there are those who will ever be willing to assist
you as much as is in their power.
" I sent a letter, addressed to you at York House,
Dover, as you desired me. I must be very poor,
indeed, if I could not afford to present you with
VOL. I. E
50 MEMOIRS OF
such a trifle ; and believe me, I find myself happy,
and ever shall, in having it in my power to show
you my readiness to oblige you.
" The direction to my father's is No. 9, Devon-
shire-place, Upper Wimpole-street. I do not know
whether I told you that it was a very good house,
and fitted up very elegantly ; the preparations for
war paid entirely for the expense of it ; and as a
war with Russia is expected, I hope he will make
a tolerable year of it. I am sure no one deserves
success more than he does.
" My sisters are perfectly well. Sophy is wonder-
fully pretty, but very little, — she is so childish, so
heedless, so inattentive, that she provokes every
body ; and when any body talks to her, she will
cry vehemently, and play with the cat's tail all the
while ; — she dances very prettily, has a very good
ear for music, and a charming voice. In short,
she may do very well, if she will. Maria improves
every day ; she is a charming and interesting girl ;
she plays really finely, and her understanding is
infinitely superior to that of girls of her age. She
is very tall, and has a very fine figure ; she has
quite outgrown me. I promise to be a remarkably
little personage.
" Here have I run on to you, whilst I ought to
have been crossing the Hellespont with Xerxes,
M, G. LEWIS. 51
or attending to the pleadings of Cicero ; but when
I once begin to write to you, I never know when
to stop. I will now, then, only assure you of the
tender love and affection of
" M. G, LEWIS."
Nothing can more pleasingly demonstrate the
state of the youth's feelings towards his parent
than this letter. It breathes the purest filial love,
and is replete with sentiments that do him honour.
The ready assistance which, thus early, he seems
to have rendered his mother ; his anxious solicitude
regarding her illness ; his desire of seeing her be-
fore he goes abroad ; the considerate account he
gives her of her other children 5 and the air of
attentive affection which pervades it all, — coming,
as it did, from a mere youth, surrounded by gay
companions, and every allurement of thoughtless-
ness and pleasure which his situation afforded, — can
hardly fail to create the most favourable impression
of the writer, in his character of a son.
His intention of spending the vacation on the
continent, he seems to have fulfilled, as his next
letter is written from Paris. This, as well as the
greater portion of those succeeding, will be found
to be deficient in dates ; a circumstance which has
MEMOIRS OF
rendered the task of arranging them, with any de-
gree of accuracy as to order, one of extreme diffi-
culty ; and Lewis, as will afterwards appear, good-
humouredly reproves his mother for not dating her
letters, totally unconscious that he was himself so
often guilty of the same error.
" Paris, September 7, 1792.
" MY DEAR MOTHER,
" I have this moment received your letter,
about which I began to be uneasy, fearing my
parcel had miscarried. I am very happy to find that
the farce may perhaps be of some service to you; and
I wish sincerely it was in my power to be of more.
As yet, however, I can be of very little use to
you 5 but be assured, that whenever it is in my
power, you shall be convinced that my wish has
ever been to manifest to you how great a regard
and affection I entertain for you. You say you
wish you had it more in your power to show yours
for me. Ah ! my dear mother, you have it in your
power ; you show it every moment : nothing can
give me so much pleasure as the offering me an
opportunity, in which I can fulfil the first and
dearest duty of humanity, and enabling me to
show how great a regard I feel for the name of
M. G. LEWIS. 55
mother. Love your son, therefore, as tenderly as
he loves you, and every trouble it is possible for
me to take will be paid with excess.
" ' You may, perhaps, serve me in the course of
your life I* Is it not, then, a service to assist me
with your counsels, to help me to correct my
faults, and to procure me the most sensible of
pleasures, in making me conscious that my exist-
ence is not entirely unprofitable to my parent ?
* # # # #
" As to the farce, it was at your option to cut
it as you pleased. The explication, I am con-
scious, was rather long ; but I endeavoured rather
to put it into three or four short speeches, than
into one long one. I wished to make the charac-
ter of Caroline as entertaining as I could, from the
idea that, if it was accepted at Drury-lane, Mrs,
Jordan might think it worth accepting. All the
story, therefore, about the governess, was pur"
posely introduced to enliven the character of
Caroline, though the story was not necessary.
However, I read it over but once ; and I dare say
you have altered it for the better. I trust, as soon
as you have offered it, you will not delay letting
me know what success you have had.
" As to the novel, I have nearly written the
two first volumes : for the first I managed cleverly
54 MEMOIRS OF
about, and lost. I was consequently obliged to
write it over again. I shall take care to finish it
before I leave France ; but if you choose to begin
it immediately, I will send you the first volume
by the next post.
" I think the Falcon, in itself, very interesting ;
and its simplicity is the greatest beauty. It is
easy to keep the canvass, and plan of the scenes,
and write the dialogue over again, only preserving
the points already written, of which there are
several worth keeping. In the style in which it
is written, it will not do for more than one act.
The simplicity will not have any charms after that
period ; and if you mean to extend it, you must
write it in a new style, and make it broad farce ;
which, in my opinion, will destroy the beauty
and simplicity of the subject. If, however, you
persist in your first idea of lengthening it, I have
found a play which may assist you. It is called
4 Le Faucon, et le$ Oyes de Boccace.' You may
perhaps know the story of Father Philips's geese.
" I will, however, just give you an idea of the
play I speak of.
" Frederic, despairing to make Cletie love him,
leaves the capital, and assumes the habit of an
hermit, whose cave he takes possession of, together
with the servant who has been brought up by the
M. G. LEWIS. 55
hermit, without ever having heard the name of
woman. In this situation, Cletie's carriage breaks
down in the wood ; she is searching for Frederic,
to demand the falcon, which he has carried off
with him ; but his retreat being unknown to every
body, she is returning home without ^the bird.
Guillaume, who sees the women arrive, inquires
of his master who they are : he tells them that they
are geese, but the most savage creatures that can
be imagined ; — notwithstanding which, Guillaume
has a great desire to catch one of these geese, and
tame it. He meets a young shepherdess who un-
deceives him, and there are some of their situations
which are amusing enough. Cletie, in the mean
while, hears talk of a woman-hater, and discovers
him to be her lover, by the cottager who has re-
ceived her, vaunting the agility of the falcon.
The rest of the plan is the same, and Guillaume is
united to Sylvia.
" I prefer the plan of the one I sent to you ; but
if you think it necessary to make it broader farce,
the plan of Guillaume (harlequin in the other play)
and Sylvia will afford you an opportunity of in-
troducing it. This, however, there is no need to
be in a hurry about ; and, when I return, I can
show you the other play, if you are resolved
against the first. I will, at any rate, enclose the
56 MEMOIRS OF
songs which I have written for it ; but luckily they
are so very commodiously written, that (like
Bayes's, which serve for prologue or epilogue,
tragedy or comedy, with equal merit,) my songs
will do for either one play, or the other. If you
adopt the other plan, it is necessary to write more
songs ; for you had better make it a comic
opera, in two acts. But I think the first plan will
not only give you less trouble, but is much the
prettiest.
" Let me hear from you very soon, to say whether
you wish me to send you the beginning of the
novel, and what you think of the verses. Observe,
that I have not written them with regard to the
poetry, but merely to give an opportunity to the
musician to write pretty music upon them.
" My sisters are well. My father writes me word
that Barrington fancies himself better from his
journey to Margate, but that he perceives no
amendment. You speak of rings : I am so afraid
that Barry's desire to have something to hang to
his watch should have escaped your sight, that I
repeat it.
" Tell me seriously, did the farce make you laugh ?
— did it interest you the first time you read it ?
" I need not repeat to you my entreaties never to
let the least hint drop to any body (particularly to
M. O. LEWIS. 57
my uncles,) that I had the least idea of writing
any thing for the theatre.
" Believe me, my dear Mother,
" Your most affectionate son,
" M. G. LEWIS."
" I shall endeavour to send this by the courier, as
I did the last ; by which means, I suppose, you got
it free. At any rate, I have written with a crow-
quill that it might take up the less room. Write to
me by the next post, I entreat you. Adieu, my
dear mother."
In this letter, Lewis is presented, for the first
time, in the character of an author. The farce
here spoken of was called " The Epistolary In-
trigue." It was never brought upon the stage ;
but he wrote in the same year his comedy of " The
East Indian," which, it will be seen, was after-
wards accepted by Mrs. Jordan. It was played
for her benefit ; and, from the applause it received,
adopted by Drury-lane, and went through a suc-
cession of representations in a most triumphant
manner. Many years after, it was again brought
upon the stage, in the form of a comic opera,
under the title of " Rich and Poor;" and in that
form, also, it met with a fair share of popularity.
At the time this comedy was written, Lewis
58 MEMOIRS OF
was only sixteen years of age ; an unusual period
of life for the production of a play suitable for the
special patronage of an actress so distinguished
for taste and discrimination as Mrs. Jordan. With
the exception afforded by Shelley, who at that age
wrote a novel (we believe never published), there
is hardly another instance on record of a work of
fiction, such as a play or a novel, having been suc-
cessfully produced by an author of sixteen.
The novel here mentioned was, like the farce,
never published ; nor does it appear that he ever
wrote more of it than the two volumes here
spoken of. It was called " The Effusions of
Sensibility ;" and, being the production of so
juvenile an author, it is certainly a literary curi-
osity. We shall present our readers* with a few of
its introductory pages.
The next letter is dated from Oxford.
" Thursday the 8th.
" I should have written to you before, my dear
mother, but I have been very unwell for this last
fortnight, and still am obliged to take medicines
three times a day. But I am considerably better ;
and doubt not, that in a little time I shall be per-
fectly well. As my headach, however, is still
* Vide Supplement.
M. G. LEWIS. 5Q
painful to me, you will excuse my writing you
a very concise letter ; though, indeed, I generally
begin with that resolution, and find myself at the
end of my paper, before I am aware to what a
length I have arrived. It is very provoking that
the farce should be refused ; and I do not under-
stand Lewis's* reason. But he only said it could
not be brought out this season. Why not ask
whether he will accept it for the next? unless,
indeed, you choose to try Colman.
" I shall be in town, I believe, about the 25th or
26th ; but intend going to Chatham in Passion-
week. I shall then return, and stay a fortnight;
and if (as you intend) you take a lodging, shall be
with you as much as I possibly can. But as I
am ordered, for my health, to ride every day, that
will necessarily take up some part of my mornings.
Every moment, however, that I can command, I
shall be happy to pass with you. I am finishing
Felix, as you desired ; and will bring it and the
music to town with me. I read over what I had
translated, and I began to fancy it not uninterest-
ing. You will judge, however, whether it will
do, when I see you in town ; but I must beg you
to transcribe it ; for that I find the most trouble-
* Lewis, the manager of Drury-lane theatre.
60
MEMOIRS OF
some part of the business ; and, besides, I write
a hand which is not legible to vulgar comprehen-
sion. I shall also bring two or three other things
for you to try your fortune with ; and if they do
not produce money, I am sure they will find
amusement for you, who will be partial to every
thing I either write or do. I will not specify
what are the contents of my budget till I see you,
when I hope to read them to you myself, which I
suppose will give you double satisfaction.
" Sophia has got the hooping-cough, and Maria
is consequently expected to catch it. Barrington
is tolerable.
" Believe me, my dear Mother,
" Your affectionate son,
" M. G. LEWIS."
" I forgot to say that, concerning the story you
told me, I do not see well how a dead body can
be brought upon the stage : besides which, it does
not merely consist in writing an opera, which will
succeed when acted, but the difficulty lies in
getting it acted. I know at least twenty French
operas, which, if translated, would undoubtedly
succeed ; but after Kemble's refusing Bluebeard,
the most interesting production of that kind, I
quite despair. There is an opera, called ' Le
M. G. LEWIS. 61
Touterrein,' where a woman is hid in a cavern
in her jealous husband's house ; and afterwards, by
accident, her child is shut up there also, without
food, and they are not released till they are pe-
rishing with hunger. The situations of the cha-
racters, the tragic of the principal characters, the
gaiety of the under parts, and the romantic turn of
the story, make it one of the prettiest and most
affecting things I ever saw ; but I shall not throw
away any more time, till I have got one of the
things I have already finished upon the stage.
* Les Victimes CloitresJ of which I spoke to you,
is another which would undoubtedly succeed.
"As I have written so much after my signa-
ture, you may perhaps have forgotten that this
comes from
" Your affectionate son,
" M. G. LEWIS."
Thus, we see the too-frequent fate of early
genius had to be encountered by Lewis : — his
first dramatic production was rejected by the
manager of Drury-lane.
The literary communion between mother and
son is of a highly pleasing character; and, per-
haps, in the annals of authorship, there is no
other instance of a youth of his years and posi-
tion in society, labouring so indefatigably, with
MEMOIRS OF
his pen, that he might add to the comforts
of a mother. Literature was the only field
that lay open to him ; and the stripling boldly
enters its thorny path, undismayed by difficulties,
undepressed by disappointments ; and, notwith-
standing its total absence of charms for a young
writer, we even find that he undertakes the irk-
some task of translation.
" Christ Church, Sunday, 25th.
" MY DEAR MOTHER,
" I have the pleasure of informing you, that on
my arrival in town, my father has promised to give
me the twenty pounds which you desired ; for, as
he gives me no settled allowance, I am obliged to
apply to him for any thing extraordinary, not
receiving above a few guineas from my tutor at a
time. The little presents I have occasionally
made you, have been merely what I have either
spared from my pocket-money, or by fortunate
success at play (which, however, I use but sel-
dom), and have been enabled to dispose of in the
manner which was most agreeable to me. None
can be more agreeable than that of giving you
satisfaction, and supplying you with conveniences
which you may happen to want. But had I a
fixed income, I should be happy to be considered
M. G. LEWIS. 63
merely as your banker ; and would sacrifice to you
not only what might be wanted for pleasure, but
what would be absolutely necessary. But I own
being obliged to apply so frequently to my father
is very painful to me. It is always a disagreeable
and humiliating task to ask for money ; but it is
much more so when one is conscious of the per-
son to whom we apply having been most liberal
and generous. That my father has always been
so, I have heard you acknowledge ; and if you
accuse me of being more partial to my father than
to you, believe me, one of his first qualities, in my
eyes, is the readiness with which he grants my
requests, and by that means puts it in my power
to show my affection towards you. This was the
case with regard to my present demand ; but I
was so sensible of my encroaching upon his
bounty, and that, perhaps, it might be necessary
for me to do so again shortly, that I entreated him
to let me have a fixed allowance, and that then I
should be enabled to assist you without applying to
him ; and if I was too extravagant, my own ne-
cessity would give me the punishment I deserved,
by depriving me of luxuries, and obliging me to
purchase the pleasure I experience in relieving
your wants, by sacrificing gratifications which might
be dispensed with. He refused my request, and
MEMOIRS OF
I enclose you his answer, that you may see, at the
same time, his readiness to oblige me, and his
kindness towards me in every thing ; and, at the
same time, how decidedly every body is of the
same opinion upon a point, which I will not men-
tion ; for to that it is I am clear that he alludes,
" So much for this subject, with which I shall
have done, when I have told you how much plea-
sure I promise myself in seeing you. My in-
tention is to come to town on Tuesday, go to
Chatham on Sunday, and return that day week ;
when I shall remain a fortnight in town.
" As to the farce, do as you think best about it ;
but I shall bring Felix to town with me, and,
perhaps, it might be as well (if you approve of it),
when you send it to Lewis, to mention a word
about it in the same note. I am more anxious
than ever to get something upon the stage for you,
since I shall receive a double satisfaction in think-
ing your satisfaction and ease was the effect of my
industry; for in a translation, I cannot call it
abilities. Suppose you were to ask Lewis what line
of dramatic writing would be most acceptable ? At
any rate, however, I have begun something which
I hope, and am indeed certain, will, hereafter,
produce you a little money ; though it will be
some time before it is completed, from the length
M. G, LEWIS. 65
of it, and the frequent interruption, and necessity
of concealment, I am obliged to use in writing it.
It is a romance, in the style of the 'Castle of Otranto.'
But, though I have been, ever since my return
from Paris (when I first thought I might be of
serrice to you by writing), employed about it, from
the above circumstance I have not yet quite
finished the first volume ; I hope, however, to get
it done time enough to read it to you during my
stay in town.
" I have just read the ( Excursion/ and could
not help fancying it was just the kind of book you
would have written, the style was so like your
common language. I like it much in some parts,
but one struck me particularly as a most excellent
stroke of nature : it is the sanguine account which
Maria writes to her sister, of her having passed an:
evening in the very best company, with the most
amiable and worthy people, &c. It is so natural
for a young, ardent mind, just entering the world,
to paint every thing in the most vivid and brilliant
colours. I liked the book, as to the rest of it,
merely I believe from those few sentences.
" I have had no return of my headachs, &c., I
thank you for your kind solicitude about them.
" Perhaps, though you do not take a lodging, you
will be able to see me before my going to Chatham.
VOL. I, F
66
MEMOIRS OF
Why not at the place where Miss Poulter is, when
she is in town ? I should think she might find out
some place among her acquaintances. This, how-
ever, you will settle, and as I believe you are as
anxious to see me, as I am to see you, I am sure
you will take the earliest opportunity of doing so.
" Believe me, my dear Mother,
" Your most affectionate son,
"M. G. LEWIS.
The perusal of this letter cannot fail to raise the
character of Lewis in the estimation of the reader.
The firm avowal of love and gratitude towards his
father, made, as it is, in a manner the best calcu-
lated to create a corresponding emotion in the
heart of his other parent ; the temperate and cor-
rect view which he takes of conflicting circum-
stances, and the delicate sense he entertains of
his own duty under them ; the youthful ingenuous-
ness of the letter, and the vein of affection to-
wards her whom he addresses pervading it
throughout; all these present a highly- wrought
picture of the feelings of a son, rendered yet
more striking by the painful and harassing situ-
ation under which they were expressed.
The literary allusions show that Lewis's works
were slowly progressing. The romance here
M. G. LEWIS. 67
spoken of was, like the novel formerly alluded
to, never published ; but he subsequently founded
upon it his popular drama of " The Castle
Spectre."
" London, Wednesday, 28th.
" The date of this letter, my dear mother, will
inform you that I am safely lodged in town ; for
which piece of news, you may perhaps have been a
little anxious. On my arrival, I found a blank
sheet of paper from my father, enclosing the
twenty pounds I had requested of him; and I
wish to know whether I shall send it to you by
the same means that you receive this, or what
other you prefer. When I had written my last to
you, I recollected that I had burnt the letter from
my father which I wished you to see ; but I re-
member the particular expressions which struck
me were these : ' The question is not whether
you shall deny yourself pleasures to give satisfac-
tion to others ; but whether you shall continue to
supply wants which perhaps are not necessary to a
person to whom I have already been very liberal.
If you continue to be found an easy exchequer,
there will be no income I can allow you will be
sufficient to satisfy their avidity who are imposing
upon your mother.'
y 2
68
MEMOIRS OF
" As to what you say about my calling myself
your nephew, do about it as you think proper. I
remember once you desired me, when in company,
to speak of my father as my uncle ; and you may
wish me to call myself your nephew for the same
reason at present ; but, for my own part, it is
immaterial to me. When I do not say that I
have a mother living, I do it to give the shortest
answer, and save myself from an explanation which
must be very unpleasant to me. You will, there-
fore, do in this case just as is most agreeable to
yourself.
" I am not likely to get you lodgings, as the
parts of the town where I go are not those in
which it is probable I shall find that kind of
thing ; but if accident should bring it in my way,
I'll let you know.
" I am in a great hurry, as you will perhaps
perceive, by the rambling style I have used.
Adieu, my dear mother ; I am very anxious to see
you, and till then remain,
" Your most affectionate son,
" M. G. LEWIS/'
M. 0. LEWIS. 69
CHAPTER III.
Residence in Germany — Goethe— German Princes — Dukes and
Excellencies—" The East Indian "—Volume of Poems— Mrs.
Jordan.
IN the midst of all this literary struggling to get
"a play brought upon the stage, or a novel sold to
a publisher, our young author proceeded to
Germany, for the purpose chiefly of acquiring the
language of that country. To this he had, no
doubt, been excited by the very high reputation
which Goethe and Schiller, more especially the
latter, had already acquired throughout Europe ;
the light of whose transcendent genius directed
attention also to the works of their compatriots,
Burger, Klinger, Iffland, Kotzebue, and a hun-
dred other poets and dramatists, who before were
unknown even by name in England.
The summer of the previous year had been
spent in Paris, for a similar purpose ; and the place
now chosen for his residence was the small capital
of Weimar ; whence all his letters from Germany
are dated. This change of place, however, was
70 MEMOIRS OF
far from rendering the correspondence kept up
with his mother less frequent, but the contrary ;
and his letters at this period, and those written
afterwards from the Hague, will be found to
contain, besides the usual subjects of communi-
cation, an exceedingly lively and graphic account
of his sojourn abroad.
Lewis, at this period, was only seventeen years
of age. He had already written an original farce,
and had translated another from the French ; also
a comedy, " The East Indian,*' already mentioned
as having been given to Mrs. Jordan, and of which
more will immediately appear in the succeeding
letters ; — two volumes of a novel, and two of a
romance, besides numerous poems. It may be
necessary to state that none of these volumes
formed any portion of " The Monk," the history
of which will appear hereafter.
" Weimar, 30th July.
"As I know, my dear mother, you must be
anxious to hear from me, and that I have escaped
all the perils and dangers, both by land and water,
I take the earliest opportunity of letting you know
that I arrived safe at Weimar three days ago. I
should have written to you on the moment of my
arrival, had it not then been too late for the post.
M. G. LEWIS. 71
I had a very disagreeable journey, being very sea-
sick in crossing from Harwich to Helvoet ; and
the roads were so bad, the postilions so stupid,
and the time I was obliged to wait at the post for
horses so long, that at last I began to be quite out
of patience, and to despair of ever arriving at the
place of my destination.
" I am now knocking my brains against German
as hard as ever I can. I take a lesson every
morning; and as I apply very seriously, I am
flattered with the promises that I shall soon speak
very fluently in my throat, and that I already dis-
tort my mouth with tolerable facility. The place
is at present rather dull, most of the people who
compose the society being gone to different places ;
some to their country-houses, and others being
with the duke and his army at Coblentz. But I
am not sorry for this ; since, as the common con-
versation of the town is German, I wish, before I
enter the routine, to know a little what people say
when they speak to me ; which you will acknow-
ledge to be a very reasonable desire. The few
people who are still here are, however, extremely
polite, and I doubt not when I know a little of the
language, I shall find the place extremely agreeable.
Among other people to whom I have been intro-
duced, are the sister of Schweter, the composer,
72 MEMOIRS OF
and M. de Goethe, the celebrated author of
Werter; so that you must not be surprised if I
should shoot myself one of these fine mornings.
"As to my own nonsense, I write and write,
and yet do not find I have got a bit further, in my
original plan, than I was when I saw you last. I
have got hold of an infernal dying man, who
plagues my very heart out. He has talked for
half a volume already, and seems likely to talk for
half a volume more ; and I cannot manage to kill
him out of the way for the life of me.
" I have had no news of Maria since I left Eng-
land, but she was infinitely better when I left her :
perhaps that might have done her good. I may
safely beg you to "honour me by laying your com-
mands on me," since I do not conceive it possible
for you to have any to lay j and, indeed, I should
as soon expect you to lay eggs. But you will be-
lieve me when I tell you, could I find any oppor-
tunity to do any thing which would give you
satisfaction, I would offer my services as readily as
I do when I can find none. Let me hear from you
soon, and tell me what you have done about the
arce, the comedy, &c.
" Believe me, my dear Mother,
" Your most affectionate son,
u M. G. LEWIS.
M. G. LEWIS. 73
From the " dying man " here mentioned the cha-
racter of Reginald, in "The Castle Spectre," was,
no doubt, afterwards taken, the romance alluded
to being the original work upon which that drama
was founded.
Lewis's introduction to Goethe was a source of
no small interest and pleasure to him, as he always
entertained a just and deep respect for the extra-
ordinary powers of that celebrated man. In after-
years, the " Faust" particularly engaged his atten-
tion ; and Lord Byron, in a letter, mentions his
having heard him, one evening, translate a por-
tion of that eccentric work with extreme facility.*
Lewis's predilection for German literature is con-
spicuous in all his after-productions j a propensity
little to be wondered at, considering the store of
materials which it afforded for his romantic imagi-
nation to work upon ; and, with the exception of
the talented authoress of Frankenstein, we know
no English writer who has so successfully adopted,
both in prose and verse, the wild and bizarre
character of that singular school.
* Vide Moore's Life of Byron.
74< MEMOIRS OF
" Weimar, September 17th.
" I began to be extremely uneasy about my
not hearing from you, my dear mother, and was
upon the point of writing again, when I received
your letter. I suppose you waited for Mrs. Jor-
dan's answer. But I was anxious to know that
you had received my letter, and that you was still
in good health. I am glad to be assured of this ;
and I hope you will, in future, write to me more
frequently. You see I answer your letters the
moment I receive them : and believe me, nothing
can give me more sincere pleasure, than to know
you are happy and comfortable, and have met with
some fresh satisfaction. I felt this pleasure from
your last, which informed me of your reconciliation
with your brother Robert, upon which I congratu-
late you, and hope it will be productive of many
good consequences.
" Mrs. Jordan's letter gives me great satisfac-
tion. But how, my good lady, did you manage to
read it ? for the seal was unbroken. Perhaps you
have a secret for lifting wax, have learnt to play
with the cups and balls, and have made no incon-
siderable proficiency in the intricacies of legerde-
main. I expect no small pleasure on my return to
England, from the exhibition of your talents and
contrivances.
M. G. LEWIS, 75
4 ' As to the music for the play, I have managed
most awkwardly about it. I intended to have got
it whilst in London ; but poor Maria was so ill,
that I forgot every thing. The consequence is,
I am now obliged to send to her, for the two
airs, with some others, as if for a lady in Germany.
They must first come to Weimar, and then return
to you ; so that it will be at least a month before
Mrs. Jordan will receive them. I have therefore
written to her to excuse this delay, and I enclose
you the letter unsealed, that you may read it. I
think you had better send it to her by the penny
post, as you now know how to direct to her ; and
it will be as well to send now and then to Ibbot-
son's Hotel, to know if any letter has been left
there by her. Did you observe her letter was
sealed (and probably directed) by the prince ?
"It is the most cruel, unjust, barbarous, savage,
and inhuman proceeding I ever was a witness to,
the telling me you have * done something with the
farce,' and not explaining what. I can conceive
' doing something' with it, to be nothing but put-
ting it into the fire ; but as you have * done some-
thing* likewise with your own work, that cannot
be the case. I hope you will in future conde-
scend to be more intelligible. I know it is ex-
76 MEMOIRS OF
tremely vulgar, but yet I must say I think it
more agreeable.
" I receive nothing but the most delightful
accounts about my brother. Maria is quite re-
covered ; and Sophia (as I am told) a very little,
tiny bit mended.
" I will try to boil your egg for you ; but I
will not take my bible-oath upon Messuline's
poems (as Congreve makes the chamber-maid
say) that it will be in my power to execute your
commissions : — first, because the music, which I
hear nowhere except at court, is almost entirely
instrumental, of Haydn and Pleyel, and which can
be got better in England than here ; — secondly,
because the little vocal music I hear, is entirely
from the Italian operas. But the Comedie will
begin in October ; and then, perhaps, I shall have
an opportunity of hearing some German airs. I
have endeavoured to execute the same commission
for Maria ; but have not as yet procured a single
song. I suspect the air you mean, to be one by
Pleyel, sold in London, under the title of ' Lady
Isabel's Lamentation,' and that it begins, ' Sleep
poor babe, ill-fated boy.' It is the sweetest air at
present existing in the ' varsal world.' Les sages
entendent les demi mots, mais il faut des mots
entieres pour le demi sage.
M. G. LEWIS. 77
" Write to me soon, I beg you. I am in a
great hurry ; but still I must tell you that my
situation is very pleasant here. Nothing can be
more polite than the people belonging to the
court. The two duchesses are extremely affable
and condescending ; and we have nothing but
balls, suppers, and concerts. Thank God, I
weary myself to death : but it is always some
comfort to think I am wearied with the best com-
pany ; and I really believe the fault is in myself,
and not in other people.
" I have nearly finished my second volume, and
have written over half the first ; but I found such
faults upon faults, that I have actually almost made
it all over again. But I find the style grows better
as I get farther on. I wish much to know what
you have done with your book. Have you printed
it at your own expense ? or what ?
" Believe me ever
" Your most affectionate son,
" M. G. LEWIS."
"Do you usually write your letters without men-
tioning time, place, or even putting a signature ?
It is the fashion I suppose/'
78 MEMOIRS OF
" Weimar, Dec. 24, 1792.
" MY DEAR MOTHER,
" You may possibly be aware that there are
certain means of arranging certain words in a cer-
tain way, so as to leave the reader perfectly un-
certain as to the sense intended to be conveyed by
them : and, in one of the phrases of your last letter,
you have succeeded most happily in the clair-
obscure style of writing. You tell me you are
surprised at not having received the songs in all
this time ; by which I am left perfectly at a loss
to discover whether you have, or have not, received
my letter, enclosing one for Mrs. Jordan, giving
an account of the causes which made it probable
that you would not receive them for a considerable
period. You may possibly, however, mean by " all
this time," the time which has elapsed since your
receiving the letter which I have just mentioned.
But I beg you to write to me immediately upon
the receipt of this, and let me know whether you
are now actually in possession of the songs, which
have now been full a month upon the road to you.
It is very possible that you are not ; for as I have
a knack at losing things as well as other people,
(a slight hint to a certain person, who shall
be nameless,) I entirely lost all recollection
of the number belonging to your lodging in
M. G. LEWIS. 79
Shepherd-street. I therefore was obliged to direct
it at a venture to No. 11, nearly opposite Bond-
street; and I put upon the cover, in case the
person should not be found, that the letter must be
sent back to me. It is, therefore, possible that it
has not reached you. I hope, however, that it
has, and, at all events, I beg you to send to the
foreign post-office immediately upon the receipt of
this, and inquire whether such a letter has not
been left there for you.
"I hope you will let me hear from you in
answer to this, with all possible expedition, as, till
then, I shall be not a little uneasy. I am very
happy to find that your situation is comfortable,
and likely to be more so. But I cannot, however,
say that I am very happy to hear that your good
spirits have altered your looks ; for in that case,
perhaps, when we meet again, your features may
be quite unknown to me, and we may stare at one
another like the old woman in the print, who cries
out ' Oh ! Gemini ! is this my daughter Ann ?' I
trust, however, that your countenance will not
be so very much altered as to make you quite
irrecognisable, and that I shall find you, on my
return to England, at least with the same heart,
and the same affection for me.
" I believe, in all probability, I shall not re-
80 MEMOIRS OF
turn to England till March or April. But my
father saying he did not wish me to hurry home in
case of a war breaking out, I have written to him
to beg that, in such a case, he would permit me
to return to England immediately. In fact,
though I am at present perfectly well satisfied
with my situation, I should not like to be shut up
in Germany, the Lord above only knows how long ;
and more especially should I be uneasy, in the
present disposition of the English populace, at
being at so great a distance from my family. I
trust there is nothing to apprehend ; but still, when
one is so far off, every trifling accident becomes a
serious and alarming affair.
" I continue to be well enough contented with
this town. There are some things, to be sure,
which are not quite so elegant and well ordered as
in England : for instance, the knives and forks are
never changed, even at the duke's table ; and the
ladies hawk and spit about the room in a manner
the most disgusting. But, as the duchesses
are very affable, and every body is extremely
obliging, I put up with every thing else, and
upon the whole, amuse myself tolerably well.
I have also made a little excursion since I wrote
to you last, to Berlin. I staid there but a very
few days ; and as I arrived there without having
M. G. LEWIS. 81
any acquaintances, at first I found the societies
into which I entered extremely wearisome and
insipid : I believe, however, had I remained a little
longer, I should have been well enough satisfied
with my stay there, for I began to know the
greatest part of the persons I met. Nothing
could be more polite and attentive to me than our
envoy there, Sir Morton Eden, was. Though a
great part of the court was in the country, and
though the king, the princes his sons, and many
others were with the army, I was perfectly asto-
nished at the crowds of princes and princesses,
dukes and duchesses, which were poured upon me
from every quarter. It put me in mind of Foote's
observation upon France, that every mangy dog
he met was either duke or marquis. I was at one
court or other to supper, every night that I
passed in Berlin ; and I verily believe it would be
possible to stay a year in that town, and sup with
a new highness at least six days out of every
seven. Then there are crowds of excellencies ;
for observe, that not only all ambassadors, gene-
rals, &,c., bear that title, but also the wives,
daughters, aunts, and grandmothers of such gene-
rals and ambassadors : so that I reckon, upon the
whole, there is to be found more soi-disant excel-
VOL. I. G
82 MEMOIRS OF
lence in Berlin, than in any other town upon the
face of the earth.
" I have moved heaven and earth, in order to
make a little collection of songs for you ; and I
have already near a dozen, and have hopes of more.
It is possible, however, that you may not like
them ; but you will, at least, like my readiness to
obey your wishes. I have translated the German
words into English, which may possibly appear in
your eyes as a recommendation ; and there is at
least, a very beautiful overture, from an opera of
Mozart's, which I think cannot fail to please
you.
" I heard from my father this morning ; and he
informed me, that both my sisters and Barry are
in perfect good health. Adieu! write to me as
soon as possible ; and believe me, my dear mother,
" Your most affectionate son,
" M. G. LEWIS."
" Weimar, February 8, 1793.
" MY DEAR MOTHER,
" I have this moment received yours of the
17th of January, and hasten to reply to it; but I
must first observe that it was highly necessary to
mention how I should direct to you in Berkeley-
M. G. LEWIS. 83
square, as you had not given me the slightest in-
formation in your former letters. I consequently
directed my last to No. 11, Shepherd-street, where
you will most probably find it by sending thither,
in case you should not already have received it.
"As to the profits of the play, I confess I
never entertained so high an idea of them as you
appear to expect them to turn out ; and conse-
quently never thought about the matter. The
idea never entered into my head, that Mrs. Jor-
dan, instead of giving it for her benefit, would
offer it to the managers, and have it acted upon
her own account. In the first case, I supposed
that, when she had made use of it, she would
return the copy to me, and then the managers would
either apply for it to me, or not, as they thought
the play promised to turn out. In that case, the
profits evidently belonged to myself. As, how-
ever, she has not thought proper to adopt this
plan, she has the game in her own hands, and it
is not possible for me to take any active part in
the matter. The best way for us is to wait
patiently, and see how it will all turn out. There
are a number of chances in our favour. It is pos-
sible that she has only taken the compliment to
herself, without any idea of appropriating the
profits, — that she is pleased with the air of patron-
84 MEMOIRS OF
izing, and having brought it upon the stage, as
the character was written expressly in reference to
her talents, will give up every thing else to the
author. She brought out a farce last year, but
it was for her benefit, and it was never acted after-
wards. Should, on the contrary, my play be
brought out as a simple comedy, and not as a
piece merely composed to serve for a benefit-night,
it seems to me to be of good augury as to the
manager's opinion of it. At the worst, should she
take it entirely to herself, I should think the right
of printing would undoubtedly belong to me : by
right, I mean not the positive right of the law
of England, but what the law of politeness
and open disinterestedness dictates, and which
is the only one to be followed here. It is pos-
sible, also, that she may insist upon sharing the
emoluments ; and though I should, of course, at
first reject such an offer, by a good deal of press-
ing, I might be prevailed upon to accept it. Set-
ting money out of the case, it certainly will give
the play a much better prospect of success, if it is
represented as other new plays, instead of at a
benefit ; for people are rather prepossessed against
benefit-plays. Another reason is, that many ac-
tresses would then play in it, who, from pique
against Mrs. Jordan, would not. Besides, its
being the first appearance of this favourite actress*
M. G. LEWIS. 85
will give the play a good deal of eclat, and not a
little prepossess the audience in favour of it. This,
therefore, is my decided opinion. As Mrs. Jor-
dan is reported to be not without generosity, so let
her act just as she pleases, and keep a profound
silence on the matter ; and even should she think
herself entitled to take no notice of any claim of
the author upon the profits, I shall willingly
abandon to her my first play, as a reward for the
trouble she has taken in bringing it out ; and I
shall gain the great point of ensuring the perform-
ance of a second play.
"You did not deceive yourself, my dear mother,
when you supposed I intended the profits of the
play (if any profits there should be) to be applied
to your use. I trust, however, that your hopes will
not be balked. Should I not obtain a farthing
from the * East Indian,* I trust I have a much
surer prospect of making you a little present than
depends upon the humour of a gallery. The vo-
lume of poems, of which I spoke to you in my last
letter, are now completed, and by July I trust I
shall get them copied out fair, and in a fit
manner to put into the hands of a publisher. I
have no doubt of selling it. I shall have no
scruple of putting my name in the title-page, for
my father insists upon my reciting verses of my
86 MEMOIRS OF
own composition at the Oxford encenia, and I may
as well publish as speak them. This volume will
consist partly of originals, partly of translations,
most of which latter are from admired poems in
Germany ; and my translations of them have been
applauded by the authors themselves — which is no
slight proof of their being tolerable. Whatever
this work produces, you may reckon upon every
farthing of it as your own. If the ' East Indian '
succeeds, I shall set about arranging * Adelaide' for
representation. The opera of * Felix' would easily
be brought out, upon the strength of my first play.
In short, I have a number of irons in the fire, and
I think some of them must answer my purpose.
I should not be averse myself to getting a little
money, which I might throw away according to
my own will and pleasure. Among other things, I
have a great wish to have Maria's picture well
drawn, and also to give her my own. There are
several other things which would please me, and
which my conscience will not permit me to employ
my father's money in obtaining. But whatever
happens, I am resolved to consider the first of my
productions which succeeds as your property, and
you may rest assured, my dear mother, I shall
always remember that you have a right to be
served before myself. Be careful, I beg, that no-
M. G. LEWIS. 87
body finds out I am the author of this comedy. I
would not have it known at present for any thing
upon earth.
" Believe me, your
" Most affectionate son,
« M. G. LEWIS."
The play of the " East Indian," so frequently
alluded to in the preceding letter, was, after all,
first brought out as a " benefit play." It is amusing
enough to observe the sanguine manner in which
its author speaks, of the certainty of being able
to make his mother a present from the profits of a
volume of poems, which he has " no doubt of sell-
ing." That the poetry, however, of an hitherto
unknown writer was, in those days, the same
unmarketable commodity it is at present, a sub-
sequent letter will testify; and as a proof that
Lewis himself soon made the discovery, we give a
little jeu d9 esprit, written by him a few years after,
entitled,
" A PALPABLE FALSEHOOD.
" In your last book, friend Mat, you really tell
A lie so gross, that ev'ry one descries it ;
Your title-page asserts, ( Sold by John Bell/
How can you say ' 'tis sold,' when no one buys it?"
En passant, we may observe how conspicuous
88 MEMOIRS OF
the young author's tact and judgment appear in
regard to Mrs. Jordan's treatment of his play, — a
degree of tact as indicative of his good taste as
other passages in the letter are of the qualities of
his heart.*
* As Mrs. Jordan was the first person of any consequence who
discovered indications of genius in Lewis's dramatic productions,
and as her acting contributed not a little to the success of his earliest
pieces, some particulars regarding her history, as connected with
the stage, although not new to the public, may not be altogether out
of place here. — Mrs. Jordan, was the daughter of a Captain Bland,
who, early in life, when on duty in Wales, eloped with her mo-
ther, the daughter df a church dignitary. Bland was a young
man of considerable property in Ireland, and the marriage of
the parties having taken place in that country, according to the
form of the Roman Catholic Church, his relations, for worldly
reasons, endeavoured to procure its annulment. This, however, was
not effected until after Mrs. Bland had become the mother of nine
children, for whom no provision [was made. Miss Bland, then
about the age of sixteen, resolved to attempt the stage, as a means
of support for herself and family. Her first appearance was in
Dublin, in the humble character of Phoebe, in "As You Like It."
Fearful of drawing any odium on her father's family, whose future
favour she little hoped for, she assumed the name of Frances ; but
afterwards played a few nights in her own name, in consequence
of some reflections which had been made that aroused her pride. She
soon after assumed again her fictitious name. She was beginning
to be noticed in Dublin, where she appeared, for several nights to
much advantage, in the character of Adelaide in the " Count of
Narbonne ;" but having been grossly insulted by the manager, she
left that city, in company with her mother, and went to Leeds,
where the York company was then performing. She applied to
Tate Wilkinson, the manager, for an engagement; who, upon asking
what line she chose, was answered to his astonishment, by the fair
applicant, that she would attempt all. Though he much doubted such
versatile talents, he promised her a trial, and she was accordingly
M. G. LEWIS. 89
Soon after the date of the last letter, Lewis re-
turned to England.
announced for Calista in the " Fair Penitent," with songs after
the play, and Lucy in the " Virgin Unmasked ;" all of which
she accomplished in one night, under the name of Mrs. Jordan ; and
her success was so great that Wilkinson afterwards gave her every
encouragement. Having quitted Dublin, however, before the ex-
piration of her articles, Daly, the manager of that theatre, threatened
to arrest her for the forfeiture, if she did not immediately return.
In this crisis she met with a friend, who, inquiring into the cir-
cumstances, and finding that she was unjustly persecuted, paid the
sum, which was two hundred and fifty pounds. In the York company
she continued for three years with increasing reputation ; when Mr.
Smith, of Drury-lane, happening to see her perform during the
York races, was so pleased with her abilities in tragedy, that he
recommended her to the managers of that theatre, to play second to
Mrs. Siddons, and she was engaged accordingly. On her arrival
in London, her natural ambition prompted her to aim at becoming
the first in comedy, rather than the second in tragedy. She
therefore chose " The Country Girl " for her introduction. This
comedy had not been played for many years ; but the revival of it,
aided by Mrs. Jordan's inimitable acting, caught the attention of
the public, and, succeeding in her wishes, she attained the most
rapid celebrity, and the rank of the first actress in comedy on the
English stage.
90
MEMOIRS OF
CHAPTER IV.
Correspondence continued— Visit to Scotland — Contribution to
newspapers — Domestic matters.
A FEW months after his return to England,
Lewis paid his first visit to Scotland, and passed
some time at Bothwell Castle, the seat of Lord
Douglas. His movements, about this time, seem
to have been exceedingly erratic, and his at-
tendance at the university most irregular. The
letter next in order, although without date, ap-
pears to have been written early in Decem-
ber; and as he had then been in the north for
some time, it is evident that he had been residing
there during a considerable portion of the Oxford
term. After Christmas, however, he returned to
college : but this circumstance, together with his
repeated absence from the university, in London
and elsewhere, at other times, and for shorter pe-
M. G. LEWIS. 91
riods, only serves to render a record of his college
career the more difficult and perplexing.
As Lewis was intended by his father for diplo-
macy, his studies seem to have been directed
rather to subjects likely to be of service to a
statesman and man of the world, than to
those scholastic honours so indispensable in the
learned professions. Hence, instead of spending
his vacations in reading Greek, he passed them
abroad, in the study of modern languages ; and to
the same cause may, in a great measure, be attri-
buted this seeming neglect of his academical
pursuits.
" Bothwell Castle, Sunday, 12th.
" MY DEAR MOTHER,
" I shall just write a few lines to you, to thank
you for your letter, and inform you of my future
motions. I leave this place on Friday next, shall
sleep that night at Dalkeith, a seat of the Duke
of Buccleugh's, and then proceed to London as
soon as possible. I do not, however, expect to
reach the village till the evening of the sixth day
from my quitting Bothwell ; as a little boy of
Lord Douglas's is to make a third in the chaise,
with Charles and myself, and consequently, the
fear of making him ill will necessitate us to make
92 MEMOIRS OF
our day's journey conclude at a much earlier hour,
than would be the case were we left to our own
inclinations.
" I shall probably pass a few days in town, and
a few days more with my aunts, Brownrigg and
Whitelocke : what then becomes of me is not
certain. Lord V has sent me an invitation
to join his Christmas party at Arley ; but I do
not think my father wishes me to accept it. His
lordship is mad — that there is very little doubt of;
but I think him rather the more entertaining for
that circumstance.
" Nothing is yet settled about my going
abroad ; and that event will certainly not take
place till after Easter. I have been passing my
time very agreeably in Scotland. I like every
individual of the family in which I am living.
Lady Douglas, in particular, is the most sen-
sible and entertaining woman I almost ever met
with. I have been nowhere else, except for one
week to Wood Hall, during which time, the Duke
of Argyle's family arrived there, on their way to
town, and passed a couple of days ; which, of
course, enlivened the society not a little.
" In spite of all this amusement, I have not
been totally idle. I have translated part of the
German tragedy, which you have heard me extol
M. G. LEWIS. 93
so highly, and have already made some progress
in the fourth act ; so that I have some hopes of
being able to finish it. I am sure you will like
it; for both the characters, incidents, and style of the
whole play, seem exactly adapted to your taste.
" Barrington, I am informed, is gone to Mr.
Buckell's. I shall enclose this letter to him for
two reasons: first, because I have burnt your
letter, and forgot the name of the particular street
in which Miss Ingall lives ; and secondly, because,
by that means, you will have only to pay for the
postage from Oxfordshire, instead of that from
Scotland, which becomes somewhat heavy. As
you have taken up an economical plan, I must not
be the first to make your exertions fruitless. Your
next letter will probably find me in London. Let
me know whether you are likely to be there. I
dare not flatter myself with the hopes of finding
that you make it your abode at present. My
father, in his last, tells me that he has some idea
of ruining, me by giving me an annual allowance.
I confess this step will be by no means disagree-
able to me, though I should then not be able to
spend half the money that I do at present. How-
ever, I should at least know my own expenses ;
and for your sake, I wish very much that my
father may execute his threat. I should have an
94 MEMOIRS OF
opportunity of assisting you in any little exi-
gency ; and I hope you would make no scruple of
applying to me, as our interests should ever be
considered, like the French republic, to be one
and indivisible. I might then, too, take some
credit to myself, if, by any self-denial, I enabled
myself to procure you any trifling convenience or
pleasure. At present I get money so easily, and
in such plenty, that I can derive no merit from
assisting you, since I must be conscious that I do
it with my father's money, not my own. Write
to me soon, and believe me your most affectionate
son,
" M. G. LEWIS."
The German tragedy, mentioned in this letter,
was Schiller's " Minister" — to which we shall,
afterwards, have occasion to allude. He made no
use of the translation for several years. It was
while residing at Bothwell Castle, that he wrote
the ballad of "Bothwell's Bonny Jane," which
commences his "Tales of Wonder," published
several years afterwards. On one of his suc-
ceeding visits to Scotland, he made the acquaint-
ance of Walter Scott, then a young man about
his own age, and equally enamoured of the old
ballad poetry, of which they both became such
M. G. LEWIS. 95
successful imitators. Lewis, indeed, displays in
his Scottish ballads, not only a just conception of
the ancient style, but a perfect acquaintance with
the national expression ; attainments which, in
Scott, were almost an attendant inheritance of
birth and education ; but, in Lewis, they were the
results merely of a devoted attachment to a species
of poetry possessing, in an eminent degree, the
charms of the wild and marvellous.
"Christ Church, Monday, 20th, 1793.
" MY DEAR MOTHER,
" I now send you the verses which I mentioned
to you in a former letter, and which I wish you
could get put into the papers. I should not even
scruple paying a guinea and a half, but not more,
if the editor will not put them in for nothing. I
should prefer the * True Briton,' and, if you suc-
ceed in getting them inserted, do not fail to let me
know in what day's paper, as all the papers I read,
in ordinary, are the 'Morning Herald,' 'The
Star,' and ' The Sun ;' none of which (as I said
before to you) would answer my purpose.
"It is not decided whether I shall go abroad
this summer or not. Much will depend upon who
is to fill the embassy which Lord Auckland has
quitted, or is on the point of quitting, at the
MEMOIRS OF
Hague. I once thought of Brussels ; but Lord
Elgin is, by all accounts, a cold unpleasant man,
and by no means likely to make the place agreeable
to me. Upon the whole I am rather inclined to
believe that I shall pass my three months' vacation
in England. My father talks of taking a hunting-
box at Barnet, or Hogsden, or Newington Butts,
or some such place, where he can place my sisters
during their vacation, and whip down to see them
on Saturdays and Sundays. But this plan is much
too quiet and dull for me, and I rather think I shall
beg leave to cut it, come what come may.
" Have you seen the new comedy of * How to
grow Rich'? It has a mighty pretty title, at
least. I should like to know what Mrs. Jordan
means to do about * The East Indian.5 You should
positively go to see the new comic opera of ' Lo
Zingaro.' The music (which I heard in Ger-
many) is most beautiful, and Storace has a cha-
racter which must suit her to a T. You should
really indulge yourself in this amusement, for it is
well worth your money ; and I should think, after
your illness, hearing such a quantity of delightful
music would go a great way to your recovery.
" I have received two letters of Maria's, written
in Italian, and very prettily I assure you. I think,
after all, it will be very hard, if she does not turn
M. G LEWIS. 9?
out very accomplished. Adieu, my dear mother.
You write to me always very concisely, and never
half frequently enough. But all I can do is to tell
you what satisfaction I receive from your letters,
when they do arrive ; and that to get them oftener
would give great pleasure to your affectionate son,
" M. G. LEWIS."
" To , Esq.,
On the mention made of the Empress of Russia,
in the House of Commons, by Mr. Sheridan, on
Thursday, April 12,5th.
Well may the angry Edmund roar
" The Age of Chivalry's no more," —
Since Sheridan's detected
In railing at that royal Dame,
Of warlike and of amorous fame,
Till late by Whigs respected.
Would none defend the spoiler's cause,
And give her lawless deeds applause ?
Didst thou too, F * *, abuse her ?
Could not thy artful brain produce,
To serve thy friend, some lame excuse,
And baffle her accuser ?
VOL. I. H
98 MEMOIRS OF
How, when this news of strange import
Shall reach thy once-loved Russian court,
Will anger shake the palace !
Inflamed with rage, imperial Kate
Shall doom thy bust to high estate,
And fix it on a gallows.
Oh ! were it not thy head of stone,
But that black mass of flesh and bone,
Which grows between thy shoulders,
That, perched on Temple Bar, might fright
And yet the gazing mob delight, —
What joy for the beholders !
I know you long have striv'n to gain
A patriot's name, but striv'n in vain ;
From me then take a favour : —
To gain that name I'll teach you how —
Go hang yourself! then, we'll allow,
A patriot's YOUR behaviour.
By throttling, show your public zeal ;
Your death shall prove your country's weal,
And end all strife and wrangling :
Parties shall join the deed to praise,
And national subscriptions raise
A gibbet for thy dangling.
Then Englishmen shall say, who view
Your patriot legs in air, to you
M. G, LEWIS. 99
Their gratitude expressing :
** Though various crimes his annals blot,
Now be those various crimes forgot,
His death's so great a blessing !"
Thus shall they say : *' Then haste to swing
To praise, upon the hempen string ;
And, famed in British story,
England shall long retain your name,
Your faults and life esteem'd its shame,
Your parts and death, its glory."
But, to complete Britannia's feast,
Your gibbet must (a patriot beast)
Consent to carry double,
That, you before, and Dick behind,
At once the road to hell may find,
And save Jack Ketch the trouble.
THE GHOST OF COL. TITUS.
It has been remarked by Southey, that " perio-
dicals are of great service to those who are learning
to write; they are fishing-boats which the buc-
caneers of literature do not condescend to sink,
burn, and destroy : young poets may safely try
their strength in them, and that they should try
their strength before the public, without danger of
any shame from failure, is highly desirable."
Lewis, it seems, was of the same opinion, and
H 2
100 MEMOIRS OF
the verses in the foregoing letter were, we believe,
the first of his compositions that appeared in print.
He now became in the frequent habit of sending
little jeux d'esprits to the different daily papers ;
although, not unlike some of the multitudinous
literary aspirants of the present day, he was oc-
casionally obliged to pay for the pleasure of seeing
his productions in print.*
* The following is another of these, written about this time :
" To the Editor of the Morning Chronicle.
" MR. EDITOR,
" Unpleasant circumstances having occurred, from a technical
term often used in the account of the armies, I beg leave to mention
it, that others may not fall into the same scrape. You are to know
that I am in the military line, and have a wife, with whom I can
find no fault, except her excessive imitation of the French ; she is
a good, peaceable woman, and we have ever lived upon the best
terms. Judge then my surprise, when she appeared before me
this morning, armed with a broomstick, and insisted that nothing
could be more French and well-bred, than giving me a hearty
drubbing. In vain did I protest this idea was quite English and
impolitic ; she persisted in her opinion, and convinced me of the
force of her argument, by beating me black and blue. Inquiring
into this strange behaviour, I found by the newspapers that, * at
Mayence, on the '25^, the French beat the general ;' and that also,
* on the 26th, they beat the general again' This unlucky term had
affected my poor wife's head ; and, indeed, I am informed that I
am not the only person it has injured. Many ladies of rank have
fallen into the same mistake. The Duke of R — d has been sorely
M. G. LEWIS. 101
The three following letters — particularly the
second and third — are of a character somewhat
different from their precursors, although we think
that when fairly considered, they are no less credit-
able to the feelings of the writer. It would be a
painful and a useless task for us to enter par-
ticularly into the causes which gave rise to the
youthful Mentor's animadversions ; but a single
perusal of these pages is enough to convince us
that his strictures were just. And yet he never
loses his kindness, or, in any degree, his respect
for his parent. He reproaches without bitter-
ness, and only by implication. He shows the
belaboured by the duchess with his ramrod ; nay, even pretty
Miss Le C — , used her fan in the scuffle, but soon found her arm
had less effect upon his grace, than her eyes upon the officers of the
ordnance. Mrs. H — re — t (a desperate trimmer) has not left a
whole bone in her husband's body; and the incapacity of Lord
A — t, in his new office, is attributed to blows received from the
commander-in-chief's staff, wielded by the hands of her ladyship.
To prevent further mistake, I beg you, Mr. Editor, to explain the
circumstance ; and inform the ladies that, though it is necessary, in
time of danger, to ' beat a general,' that general is not
" A GENERAL OFFICER."
" General Sm — h ascribes his late loss of £1000 at piquet solely
to this unlucky term : he confesses, however, that he deserved to
be beat, having done his utmost to beat his adversary. Having
failed to gain his point, he is resolved, in future, to shake the bones to
better purpose."
102 MEMOIRS OF
relative position of her family and herself with
temperate calmness : and after he has clearly
and lucidly pointed out the justice of his own
views, and the false light of hers, he ever turns
round again to his mother with a burst of natural
affection, and, as if impatient of the painful con-
troversy, prays that it may cease.
"Oxford, Wednesday.
" MY DEAR MOTHER,
" I have the pleasure of acquainting you that
my father has granted your request ; and as it
shows how unjustly you have accused him of
having altered his opinion with regard to you, I
shall transcribe that part of his letter which relates
to yourself. ' What you desire in your last is
reasonable and proper for you to ask. The mode
of changing the payments is the only difficulty :
I wish your uncle William would undertake it.
I would regularly pay the money in advance, or
otherwise, into his banker's hands. The only
other person who occurs to me is Mr. Trotter ;
but any explanation from me to him would be
unpleasant. In short, I am ready to do it in any
proper mode, but desirous of having that mode
M. G. LEWIS. 103
settled without my personal interference. Mr.
Bishopp, I understand, is in a very dangerous
state of health ; but illness is not an excuse for
incivility. I suppose he wishes to be rid of a
thankless office, attended with trouble. Let me
observe, that I am not rich enough, as Mr. B.
was pleased to say, to add to your mother's allow-
ance. I am not yet out of debt ; and when I
shall be so, there is much to be done, in order to
make an adequate provision for your sisters (poor
Barry I must think out of the question), who
would not be left in a very desirable situation
were any accident to happen to me. Not that I
have any fears of your kindness to them ; but
independence is the best security for affection in
families ; and I should wish to leave them a suf-
ficiency, without the necessity of your sharing
with them what will come to you as a matter of
right. Whenever I find I can, with propriety,
spare a further sum for your mother, it shall be
your gift to her/
" I hope, my dear mother, the kindness with
which this letter speaks of you will give you
satisfaction, and convince you that your suspicions
of my father's behaviour being changed towards
you are unjust. I hoped to have heard from you
whether you got the letter or not, as I am afraid
104 MEMOIRS OF
it might have missed you, and you may have been
distressed. I trust you will write immediately
upon the receipt of this.
" Believe me, my dear Mother,
" Your most affectionate son,
" M. G. LEWIS."
" My DEAR MOTHER,
" I was not conscious of showing any coolness
or reserve when I saw you. Believe that my
affection is still as warm for you as ever; but
since you desire me to tell you my thoughts, I
will openly confess to you that I feel many very
different sensations upon your subject. I feel for
you the greatest regard, the most eager desire to
do any thing that can give you even the most
trifling satisfaction ; and, at the same time, I can-
not help recollecting the pain and anxiety you
have occasioned to my dear, my worthy father;
and that it is owing to your conduct that my
sisters are deprived of maternal care and atten-
tion, and of receiving the benefit of those little
instructions and observations, so necessary to
make young women accomplished, and which are
in the power of a mother alone to point out to
them with success. You ask me how much I
know of your difference with my father, and
M. G. LEWIS. 105
whether I could publicly make allowances for you.
You suppose my father has been giving me in-
structions. You accuse him unjustly : he has
never said a syllable to me with regard to you ;
and my behaviour is entirely such as is dictated
by my own heart. If that is good, as yourself
has often told me, my conduct must be the same ;
if my conduct is wrong, my heart is the same ;
and it will be worth no one's while to seek to have
a share of it. No : I will own to you openly, I
could not declare in public that I can make allow-
ances for you. In my heart I can excuse you,
and believe that your own innocence, and the
deceit of others, may have been the occasion of
your errors. But these are arguments never re-
ceived by the world, which is always eager to
believe the worst side of every thing. But, say-
ing I have arguments to bring against your adver-
saries (though I swear to you, on my soul, I
know of no adversaries that you have), I never
could bear to talk coolly upon the subject. But
let me put a case to you, and make you remember
a circumstance which must speak to your own
feelings. My sisters are now at the age when
their minds are most capable of receiving lasting
impressions : they have been taught to regard me
almost as attentively as their father ; and from my
106 MEMOIRS OF
being more with them, and entering into their
amusements with more vivacity than people who
are not so near their own age can do, they readily
adopt any sentiments they hear me declare. Can
you then openly confess that you wish your con-
duct to be followed by your daughters ? I will
not say your conduct is to be condemned ; but I
cannot call it commendable, when I know the
anxiety it has occasioned, and still occasions, to
my father, and which, at your separation, was
perfect frenzy. As to the two lights which you
say I may regard you in, the light in which I do
regard you is composed of both. I feel the love
and respect for you which you state in the first :
I conceive your heart to be so good, your mind so
enlightened, that I am astonished that you could
be led into those errors, when the strength of
your understanding must have shown to you the
calamities you were bringing upon yourself ; and
the excellence of your heart must have made you
feel for those your errors must bring upon the
people whom you declare were then, and still are,
the nearest to your heart. You tell me that I
ought to hear your arguments, as well as those on
the other side. I have heard neither on one side
nor the other •, and you ought to consider it as a
mark of generosity, that whilst it was in my
M. G. LEWIS.
father's power to have made my mind receive any
impressions he chose to give it, he did not take
the opportunity, but suffered me to draw my own
sentiments from what I might afterwards hear and
feel myself: for, in these circumstances, the heart
must be the best and most impartial judge. You
have put me into the most distressing and embar-
rassing situation in the world : you have made me
almost an umpire between my parents. I know
not how to extricate myself from the difficulty.
I can only believe neither of you to be in the
wrong ; but / am not to determine which is in the
right. Only believe that my affection for you is
as great as ever, and that there is nothing which
I can do to oblige you, which shall not be done
with the greatest readiness. When I am obliged
not to see you, I deny myself a pleasure ; and be
convinced that I should not do it without good
reasons. There are many reasons which make
Oxford an improper abode for you. It is an un-
common thing to see a lady arrive there by her-
self; and as there are people who have a right to
inquire into my actions, I should be subject to
many unpleasant questions ; and what answer
would you have me give them? You wish to
spend the ten pounds I offer you at Oxford, and
you tell me your difficulties are over ; but they
MEMOIRS OF
may recur, and I imagine you would not wish
positively to throw away ten pounds.
" I must now beg you to have done with this
subject. Never let me again be obliged to write
such a letter — so embarrassing, so distressing.
I really think it unkind to tax me with coolness
and reserve of conduct. I am not conscious of
having failed to you in any one point of affection.
The way, also, and manner in which you put it,
was not a fair one. You must have been con-
scious that I could not decide in your favour ; and
to decide against you would give me infinite pain.
But I have now done with this painful subject.
" I must beg you to pursue the line of conduct
with regard to Barrington which I mentioned to
you — to write to him often, and feed him with dis-
tant hopes of meeting — not to make the excuse
of his health preventing you ; for it would make
him fret, and his spirits will not bear it. I have
just heard from Mrs. Brownrigg, who says that his
not having received a toothpick- case, which I was
to get for him, has made him fret a great deal.
This little circumstance will convince you that he
cannot bear the emotion of seeing you. The more
I think of this, the more I am convinced that the
flurrying his spirits so much would be absolute
madness.
M. G. LEWIS. 109
" I have the pleasure to inform you, that my
uncle William is in town, where he will remain a
month ; but he says he is very busy at his office.
He asked if you were coming over soon. I told
him I believed so ; I did not tell him you were
arrived, because I did not know where you would
choose to have him directed to. He asked if you
had received his letter, and was surprised you had
not answered it. If you send a letter for him to-
morrow morning to Devonshire-place, he will re-
ceive it at dinner, as he dines here. The servant
will give it to him, as I dine out.
" Believe me,
" Your most affectionate son,
" M. G. LEWIS."
" December 25th.
" Your letter, my dear mother, has given me
very serious uneasiness, because I am not con-
scious that my letter contained any expressions
which deserved to be treated with so much anger ;
nor do I think you judge fairly when you put my
pride in opposition to my affection for you, and say
that the former overbalances the latter. Change
pride for reason, and your proposition will stand
right ; and that it ought to be put in that way,
you yourself acknowledge, since you say my argu-
110 MEMOIRS OF
ments were both * right and natural.' If I was
conversing, I should, perhaps, through warmth and
thoughtlessness, show that inconsiderate affection
(without any regard to reason) which you think so
proper, and wish so much to see ; but when I take
up my pen upon reflection, and can have an oppor-
tunity of looking calmly upon what I have said,
and, if wrong, correcting it, I must then give the
preference to reason, which stares me so broadly
in the face. You cannot suppose that / should
think your conduct blameless, when you yourself
do not think it so. I can make every allowance
for your intentions and your heart ; but that does
not prevent my seeing that you have erred in prac-
tice, however right your theory may be. As to
what you say about my showing a want of affec-
tion in the letter I formerly wrote to you, you ought
not to wish me to be so much blinded by affection
as to overlook common sense, propriety, and every
other consideration. In those letters, in answer to
the many arguments which occurred to me in my
own vindication (and which you could not con-
fute), I do not remember one that you used to me
which could exculpate yourself. The contents
were constantly the same : you owned that you
had done wrong, but said that I ought not to think
soj you declared my head was better than my
M. G. LEWIS. Ill
heart, and that I ought to follow blind affection in-
stead of common sense ; you wished me to con-
sider your provocations (which must be obscure to
every body but yourself) as glaring, and your
errors (which are clear to every body) as trifling ;
and in short, you conclude by saying, that if I did
not believe your conduct to be perfectly blameless,
you would throw away all affection for me, and
never care any further about me. These were not
arguments, and I remained consequently uncon-
vinced; but in whatever way I could show my
affection for you, in making you more easy or com-
fortable, I was ever happy and ready to take the
opportunity. If I were to declare your conduct
blameless and justifiable, I should think the pu-
nishment deserved, if my own wife and sisters fell
into the same errors.
" You must have been very angry when you
wrote your last letter, for your arguments are easy
to be confuted, and you seem wilfully to have mis-
taken several parts of my letter. You say that
you ' never thought otherwise than that such a
connexion was ineligible.' That is extraordinary,
since you thought ' their arguments were reason-
able, and you merely came to England to see your
friends before you took the step.' This is a con-
tradiction. ' My pride is stronger than my affec-
MEMOIRS OF
tion.' My affection for you is very strong, but I
never said it was stronger than my love for my
sisters, whom I still think would be hurt by your
living again with my father. You said once that
you could give me many reasons why it would be
advantageous to them. I will give you mine, why
it would not be so. Your reunion with my father
would certainly introduce you again into society ;
but still many women would be shy of coming to
your house. This would be a disadvantage ; but
the great one is, that it would be a material obstacle
to their establishment. I must give you an exam-
ple of this in a conversation which I once was pre-
sent at, and which cut my pride (if you will have
it so) and my feelings for my sisters most severely.
Lady J has had many slurs thrown upon her
character, but she has never been separated from
her husband, nor made so very public a subject of
discourse. She was then the topic in a large as-
sembly, when somebody said, * It is very fortunate
for her to have married her daughters so advan-
tageously/ ' Yes,' answered another, ' and very
extraordinary, too ; for there should not be another
girl in the world, before I'd marry the daughter of
a woman who has been talked of so freely.' This
was in a large assembly, and I fear the opinion of
three parts of the world are the same. This, then,
M. G. LEWIS. US
is a reason why I should feel more hurt than pleased
at your reconciliation with my father. Add to
which, I was certain it would be impossible to take
place, and though I wish most earnestly to pre-
serve your affection, I am still anxious not to lose
my father's.
" Instead of thinking Miss R 's conduct
amiable, I think it weak and selfish ; since for her
own gratification she compelled two people to enter
into an engagement which could produce nothing
but unhappiness to them. Such a reunion must
constantly be imbittered by reflection upon the
past, and the husband and wife must be continually
pulling different ways. Beside this, my fretting
would be to very little purpose ; for my father's
heart is not so easily shaken to what his reason
does not approve. I would do any thing in the
world to make you both happy in your separate
situations ; but I see so many obstacles, and even
impossibilities, to a reunion taking place, that it is
idle to think of it. You tell me that I have two
faults which you can discover. I have two thou-
sand, which any body may perceive at the first
glance ; but I do not reckon my obedience to the
dictates of reason as one of them. But when you tell
me that I restrain them, that circumstance, I con-
fess, piques my curiosity — makes me own you have
VOL. I. I
1 14 MEMOIRS OF
made a discovery, and beg you to tell me which of
my many faults I have got so well under command :
since, the first step gained, I may, perhaps, succeed
in totally subduing them. I suppose you mean
Pride and Conceit. I know that I have a great
deal of the first, and I am not ashamed of it, when
lt has the sanction of common sense, and it should
only be despised when exercised on a bad cause,
and proceeding from a bad principal. As for con-
ceit, I know that I have more than other people,
with less reason for it, and I have not a word to
say in vindication of it.
You wish my letter had been a pathetic ad-
dress. You might as well have desired it to
have been a sentimental one. Either would shine
in a novel, but would be perfectly ridiculous,
and out of its place, when writing seriously
and upon actual circumstances. Besides which,
it is not the nature of a man to write pa-
thetics, but to express his sentiments as strongly
and forcibly as possible. I did not sit down to
think what I should write, but to write what I
thought ; and since you acknowledge what I have
said to be right and natural, I do not think it would
have been much more to the purpose, if my letter
had been stuffed with Oh's and Ah's, from the be-
ginning to the end. If you will not believe that
M. G. LEWIS. 115
I have a great affection for you, nothing that I can
say will be able to persuade you of it. I can only
repeat my assurance that while you retain your
regard for me, mine for you will never decrease,
and that I shall always be delighted to have it in
my power to give you proofs of the interest I take
in your welfare and happiness.
*****
" I once heard you declare rather a singular
maxim— that, if any thing were mentioned to you
with threats, you would reject a proposal, how-
ever right and proper, and prefer any other,
however disadvantageous. It was on this account,
that I was obliged to warn you not to consider
what I said as a threat. I have written you a
very long letter ; and I hope it will convince you
that it was very far from my intention to use any
manner that might be unpleasant to you ; and if,
after having read this, you still persist in your
opinion, I can do nothing else than assure you I
am very sorry for having displeased you, and very
sincerely beg your pardon.
" Believe me,
" Yours most affectionately,
" M. G. LEWIS/'
i
116 MEMOIRS OF ,
That both mother and son had hearts which
could not be long estranged, the succeeding cor-
respondence shows. The former communion of
love was speedily renewed between them ; and
the following letter — the last which Lewis wrote
before again going abroad — is a touching mark of
attention, and displays another instance of the
affectionate consideration for his mother's happi-
ness, which formed such a leading feature in his
character. All the little incidents are so natural
and kind, so well calculated to be pleasing to
his parent, and so delicately and feelingly ex-
pressed, that it is impossible to peruse them with-
out perceiving that they speak the language
of a heart actively influenced by the most
genuine feelings of filial love. It is also the last
letter which he writes from Oxford, before
quitting its classic cloisters to mingle, as a man,
in the busy scenes of the world.
« Oxford .*
" MY DEAR MOTHER,
\
t
" I will not delay a day in sending you the
* This letter is written by Lewis on the fly leaf of one to himself
from Mrs. Blake.
M. G. LEWIS. 117
following letter from Mrs. Blake, as I am sure the
contents and sentiments conveyed in it will give
you pleasure, and convince you that there are
some people in the world who entertain the
opinion of you which every body ought to do.
I shall write to her immediately, to say how much
her letter gratified me, and that I shall ever
esteem those to be my best friends, who look
upon my mother in a favourable point of view;
and that I shall endeavour to make up to her
children, the kindness which she is inclined to
show to MY parent. I must observe to you, that
since her kindness to you, I have taken much
notice of her son, and have never seen him without
giving him a guinea. I have done the same thing
by B. Sewell, as I thought you might possibly
(though not probably) reap some benefit from it.
I shall say something to Mrs. B about giving
Robert Sewell a favourable idea of you, making
him write to you, &c. I do not mean in money
matters, but in fraternal regard ; for in the first,
whenever I have any fortune of my own, I shall
be too proud to let you be indebted to any body
but myself for assistance.
" I believe that in two weeks I am going
abroad. If so, I hope you will pass in town the
118 MEMOIRS OF
few days that I shall be there. I will let you
know as soon as my plans are settled, that you
may make your arrangements accordingly. By
to-morrow's post I expect without fail to hear from
you. God bless you, and make you feel happy
and contented.
" Believe me ever,
" Your truly affectionate son,
" M. G. LEWIS."
"Jamaica, 20th January, 1794.
"I consider myself as guilty of an extreme
degree of neglect in not having sooner acknow-
ledged your kind letter ; but do me the justice to
believe, my dear Mat, that in no shape whatsoever
did it arise from an indifference, either to your
correspondence or good opinion. I rejoice that
the gratification of my own feelings should have
been deserving of any acknowledgments from
you. I wish to God I could have seen you on
the subject previous to my departure from Eng-
land ; many circumstances that passed, I could
have wished to have communicated to you, par-
ticularly a conversation between your father and
myself on the subject. I do interest myself in the
cause of your mother, I must confess, with no
M. G. LEWIS. 119
small degree of earnestness. I could think and
talk on the subject, until I became perfectly me-
lancholy ; because I think she has merits that are
not fully understood, and I think, also, she has re-
lations that are not as serviceable to her as they
might be. Good God ! when I think of this world,
or rather the ways of it, I almost wish myself out
of it. I have been, and still am, very ill with a
complaint, that would very easily have rid me of all
my uneasiness about this world ; but, I fancy, like
the old man in the fable, who called out for death
to relieve him of his pains, I should find out that I
only wanted him to help me up with my bundle
of sticks. Seriously, I have been very ill, and
am still so unwell as to be very weak, and my
spirits too low to bear any exertion, therefore I
shall not fatigue you with any length of letter.
Whenever, my dear Mat, you can spare time to
scribble me a few lines, the attention will be sooth-
ing, and I shall be very thankful.
" I beg you to accept my best acknowledgments
for the earrings you were good enough to send
me. They are infinitely admired, and to me are
more valuable from the idea of their being tokens
of your remembrance and satisfaction of a trifling
act on my part, but which notice in you, proves
120
MEMOIRS OF
the goodness and tenderness of your heart to a
very great degree, the impression of which I shall
always think of with pleasure.
"If you are now in England, remember me
kindly to your sisters, and assure them of my
earnest wishes for their happiness.
" Believe me, my dear Matthew,
" Your truly affectionate aunt
" And faithful friend,
" A. BLAKE."
M. G. LEWIS.
CHAPTER V.
Residence at the Hague — " Mysteries of Udolpho"— The Dutch-
Parties of Madame de Matignon — Dutch assemblies — Anecdote
of Lord Kerry — " The Monk" — Visit to the army at Arnheim—
Bombardment of the bridge of Nimeguen — Duke of York — Cha-
racter of the French and allied armies — English sensibility.
EARLY in the following summer Lewis pro-
ceeded to the Hague, in the character of an
attache to the British embassy, where he remained
until the end of the year. His letters written
here, are full of interesting information, and many
of them are exceedingly lively and humorous.
They show, moreover, that all traces of the former
misunderstanding between his mother and himself
were now completely obliterated j and that he
continued, with unabated industry to pursue his
literary career, of which his letters present the
best history, and afford the most correct record.
It will also be seen how far he was from being
MEMOIRS OF
dispirited by previous failures, and that his inces-
sant perseverance was only equalled by his con-
tinued good-humour.
" The Hague, Sunday, May 18th.
" MY DEAR MOTHER,
" As you must undoubtedly be anxious to know
that I have crossed the water in safety, I sit down
to give you early intelligence of my being arrived
at the Hague. I had a remarkably good passage
of four-and-twenty hours : the weather was uncom-
monly fine. * * * *
" I am at present inhabiting an inn ; but, in the
middle of next week, I shall remove to very
pleasant lodgings, which I have procured near the
ambassador's hotel. I arrived at the Hague on
Thursday night, and have already dined twice
with Lord St. Helens, who was excessively polite.
I have not as yet been presented at court, but
shall be on Monday ; after which, as I under-
stand, I am to send about my cards to all the
principal people in the place, and I shall have
immediately as much society as I can wish for,
if not more. At present, as I know nobody here,
I cannot supply you with much information re-
specting the Hague, or much anecdote respecting
its inhabitants. I must not, however, omit to
M. G. LEWIS. 123
inform you, that you may have some notion of the
poetical ideas and tender nature of the Dutch,
that my landlord, though he is nothing more than
a grocer, displays a sign, representing an altar, on
which reposes two hearts, pierced through by a
flaming arrow ! Show me an English grocer
whose shop can boast so allegorical an ornament.
" There are very few English here at present ;
but the few who are, seem to be remarkably plea-
sant. I hope that you got a letter, which I wrote
to you from Harwich, respecting the habit-maker ;
but as I left it to the care of an innkeeper, it may
not have reached you. I therefore mention the
circumstance, lest you should accuse me of inat-
tention.
" I have again taken up my romance ; and per-
haps by this time ten years, I may make shift to
finish it fit for throwing into the fire. I was in-
duced to go on with it by reading the * Mysteries
of Udolpho,* which is, in my opinion, one of the
most interesting books that has ever been pub-
lished. I would advise you to read it by all
means ; but I must warn you, that it is not very
entertaining till St. Aubyn's death. His travels,
to my mind, are uncommonly dull, and I wish hear-
tily that they had been left out, and something
substituted in their room. I am sure you will be
MEMOIRS OF
particularly interested by the part, when Emily
returns home after her father's death : and when
you read it, tell me whether you think there is any
resemblance between the character given of Mon-
toni, in the seventeenth chapter of the second
volume, and my own. I confess that it struck me ;
and as he is the villain of the tale, I did not feel
much flattered by the likeness.
"I hope you will write to me soon, for I
am impatient to hear whether you have done
any thing with the poem, or got any answer from
those two tiresome devils, Colman and Kemble.
A favourable one I do not expect, but I confess I
should like to get one of some kind or other.
"I left poor Maria in great distress at my going
abroad, and I could not help being fool enough to
shed so'me tears upon quitting her. I have just
written to her a long letter to comfort her.
" Of course you send your letters to my father,
and I beg they may be long ones.
" Believe me, my dear Mother,
" Your most affectionate son,
"M. G. LEWIS."
It is worthy of special remark how powerfully his
love of the marvellous attracted Lewis to the work
which he here recommends to his mother's perusal.
M. G. LEWIS.
The fine descriptions of St. Aubyn's long tour in
search of health, and the heroine's anxiety about her
father, he pronounces comparatively insipid; but
the tyrannical Montoni, with his Gothic castle full of
horrors, presented a subject perfectly congenial
with Lewis's poetical imagination. No less, how-
ever, were his taste and critical discrimination
called into action by the authoress of the " Mys-
teries of Udolpho," whose vivid conceptions both of
the gloomy and the beautiful, and whose singu-
larly graphic powers of language, render her works,
even at the present day, models of their kind. The
most original genius usually requires excitement
from a kindred spirit at the outset, and it will be
admitted that the pen of Ann Radcliffe showed no
little share of masculine strength. According to
his own confession, Lewis was induced to go on
with his romance by the perusal of her greatest
work ; and we may imagine our author — like Cor-
regio gazing on the pictures of Guilo Romano or
Michael Angelo — to exclaim " Anch9 io sono
pittore /"
" Hague, Tuesday, July 22, 1794.
" MY DEAR MOTHER,
" Before I tell you any thing about myself and
my present proceedings, I shall mention that the
126 MEMOIRS OF
way in which Robinson proposes to publish the
poem by bits and bits in magazines, is by no
means to my liking ; and if he has accepted it for
that purpose, I beg you to break off the bargain at
any rate. This is the sure way of not having it
taken notice of, and it would steal out of the world
in as^ shabby a manner as it stole in. I should
sacrifice a few guineas to the publishing it at my
own expense, were I not deterred by the idea, that
the booksellers discourage such conduct, and do
all in their power to prevent the sale of a book
which has not passed through their hands. At all
events, I wish you would find out what the expense
of printing, advertising, &c. would come to al-
together. If it were not a great deal, I feel very
much tempted to risk the money, though at pre-
sent I am obliged to economise very much. The
Hague is the most expensive place possible. It
is true that my father says, if I want money he will
give me as much more as 1 choose. But this
liberality makes me anxious if possible to do with
the sum already allotted to me. I am not, there-
fore, very desirous of throwing away my money ;
but if the expense should not be very exorbitant,
and if I thought the poem likely to be read (for
that is at present my only aim), I should be
tempted to try my fortune. Whether the poems were
M. G. LEWIS. 127
liked or not, the consequences would be beneficial.
If they were praised, it would please my vanity ;
if abused I should be convinced that I had no
talents for authorship. Should I adopt this plan,
I think I should let Walter of Charing-cross into
the secret, and let him publish it ; and I think he
would, from his obligations to my father, do all in
his power to promote the sale. Much of this plan
depends upon your answer respecting the prices.
" I did not send my German translation to any
body ; I did it in Scotland, and brought it to you
the moment I arrived in London. The author
of * The Robbers' has written several other plays.
Why did you send the Epistolary Intrigue to
Harris, which he had already refused ? — I have
written a little Farce, which T wish to offer to
young Bannister for his benefit, and mean to
send it to you for that purpose, by the first op-
portunity. It would be too expensive to send such
a parcel by the post. It is calculated solely for
his acting, and is on the subject of two twin
brothers, one a rake, and the other a quaker, who
are constantly mistaken for each other ; and I have
so arranged the scenes that, as the brothers are
never both on the stage at the same time,
they may be played by the same person, who of
course must be Bannister.
128 MEMOIRS OF
" So much for authorship. You see I am horribly
bit by the rage of writing ; you will be sorry to
find that I am not more pleased with my situation
than when I last wrote to you. I have nothing in
the world to do, and I am certain that the devil
ennui has made the Hague his favourite abode. I
have not as yet found a single soul whom I ever
wish to see again. There is hardly any society
of any sort or kind, and I cannot express to you
with what impatience I wait for a recall to England.
Of this, however, I am afraid there is at present no
hope ; I am tied down here, and I assure you, I
have need of all my patience and fortitude to keep
myself from falling into low spirits, — which, when I
have them, with me becomes a serious malady.
" I have been very unwell for this last week ; but
this probably is occasioned by the extreme heat of
the weather, which is said to be unequalled, and is
the more unfortunate since the dryness of the season
prevents an inundation from taking place. You
doubtless know that the security of Holland de-
pends in a great measure on the canals, which
resource, at this moment, it is impossible to make
use of. You may perhaps be a little alarmed for
me, when you hear of the progress of the French.
I shall assure you, therefore, that at the Hague
there is no possible danger of our being visited by
M. G. LEWIS. 129
the Carmagnols. Every body here is in perfect
security upon their own accounts ; but, of course,
their faces are very gloomy, from the bad success
of the combined armies. I hope you received a
letter from me some time ago, enclosing some
verses which I wish you to get inserted into " The
Times." As I am dying for want of amusement,
in spite of the little which this letter must afford
you, I hope you will not neglect to answer it with
all possible diligence, and not to send me a less
quantity of writing than was contained in your last.
My sisters are well, and gone on a visit to Mrs.
General Cuyler, at Portsmouth. Farewell, my
dear mother. Write to me soon,
" And believe me,
" Your most affectionate son,
"M. G. LEWIS."
By this letter, we ascertain the fate of those
poems respecting which he had before written with
such overweening confidence ; and we may see
from this and other circumstances, that the young
author by no means escaped his share of those
troubles and rebuffs to which a literary aspirant is
especially liable. At the same time he exhibits that
perseverance, which, though lauded in other pur-
suits as the indispensable requisite for and the sure
VOL. I. K
130 MEMOIRS OF
foundation of ultimate success, is too often stig-
matized in young authors, as foolish obstinacy
and self-delusion. Though literary persever-
ance is often thrown away, success without it
is absolutely impossible; and considering how
wearisome and exhausting is the labour of com-
position, whether in prose or verse, the power
of sustaining an " equal mind under adversity,"
when exhibited by disappointed authors, is, we
think, deserving even of greater praise, than the
courage evinced by others whose employments are
less arduous. The farce mentioned above, as
having been written for Bannister, was called
" The Twins," and was afterwards played for that
actor's benefit.
"Hague, Sept. 23, 1794.
" MY DEAR MOTHER,
"You lament in your last that it is always
your lot to send me disagreeable intelligence. It
is true that you sent me a whole budget of dis-
appointments ; and nothing would console me
under them, but the idea that it is sometimes in
my power to send you letters calculated to produce
an effect exactly contrary. This, I imagine, will
be the consequence of your reading the letter from
Mrs. Blake,* which I enclose. It will prove to you
* This letter has not been preserved.
M. G. LEWIS. 131
that every body is not unjust in their way of
thinking upon your subject ; and more particularly
will it give you pleasure to know, that my father is
not one of the number who censure you harshly ;
that he wishes you well, and will be happy to
know that you are comfortable and easy. I intend
to write to Mrs. Blake, and beg her to tell me
what past between her and my father ; also to in-
quire whether he named what might be done to
better your situation, and whether I can be of any
use in it. There was another sheet to her letter,
but it contained nothing that would be interesting
to you. I have not, therefore, sent it.
" I must now thank you for your very long, and,
consequently, very acceptable, letter. I can only do
as a child fed with sweetmeats, cry ' More ! more !'
I am happy to find that you have been passing your
time so pleasantly since I left England. As for me,
the Hague and the Dutch are as insufferable as ever.
But of late I have cut the society of the place, and
got into a very agreeable coterie, which assembles
every other night at the house of one of the
cleverest women I ever met with, a Madame de
Matignon. She is the daughter of the celebrated
Baron de Bretenie, who lives with her. We have
also the Marquise de Bebrance, the Princesse de
K 2
MEMOIRS OF
Leon, the Princesse de Montmorencie, the Vicomte
de Bouille, the Duke de Polignac, the beau Dillon
(of whom you must certainly have heard), and, in
short, the very best society of Paris. This, you
must suppose, is pleasant ; every body is at their
ease ; some play at tric-trac ; others work ; others
'font la belle conversation,' and so well, with
such wit and novelty of thought, that I am much
entertained by it. You will easily conceive that,
after such a society, the Dutch assemblies must be
dreadful. I, therefore, seldom go near them ; and,
indeed, a late proof of their stupidity would have
terrified a man possessed of more courage than
myself. An unfortunate Irishman, known by the
name of Lord Kerry, being the other night at one
of the Dutch assemblies, and quite overcome with
its stupidity, yawned so terribly that he fairly dis-
located his jaw. It was immediately set again ;
but he has suffered much from the accident, and is
still confined by it to his bed. He is a man up-
wards of fifty ; and, consequently, must have been
frequently ennuied before. But such peculiar
ennui was more than he had bargained for, or had
power to resist. You may think this is a made
anecdote ; but I assure you that I have told you
the plain matter of fact. There is a Duchesse de
la Force here, a sort of idiot, whom I wish you
M. G. LEWIS. 133
could see. She would entertain you much. Her
conversation is composed of the same set of phrases,
which she vents upon all occasions. One of them
is ' Et les details ?' She said, the other day,
without minding her question or his reply, 'Eh
bien ! M. Dillon, y'a-t-il quelques nouvelles T —
' 11 riy en a pas, Madame,9 — ' Vraiment ! et les
details ? When they told her that the Queen of
France was dead, she asked for the details ? She
would make an excellent character in a comedy.
Talking of that, I see Mrs. Jordan is engaged at
Drury-lane. Perhaps she will bring out the play
which she accepted. I now rather wish she would
not. I was reading it the other day, and it seemed
so bad, that it cannot miss being damned. How-
ever, it is most probable that she has forgotten
the comedy and every thing about it.
".I long to hear your opinion of the farce
which I sent you lately. I know that you will
like it, because written by me ; but I want to
know which parts pleased you most. They say
that practice makes perfect ; if so, I shall one day
be a perfect author, for I practise most furiously.
What do you think of my having written, in the
space of ten weeks, a romance of between three
and four hundred pages octavo ? I have even
written out half of it fair. It is called c The
MEMOIRS OF
Monk/ and I am myself so much pleased with it
that, if the booksellers will not buy it, I shall pub-
lish it myself.
" Since I wrote to you, I have payed the army
a visit, and passed a week at Oosteshout with
great pleasure. I was presented to the Duke of
York, and dined with him one day. He was very
civil, and seems uncommonly good-humoured ;
but I should have liked him better, had he not
been so very like Lord Stopford, who, in my
opinion, is one of the most disagreeable men in the
world. I was also presented to Prince Adolphus.
This little expedition made me only feel the
Hague more stupid and insupportable than ever.
" As you are a novel-reader, you ought to read
4 Caleb Williams ;' It is a new style, and well
written. Unluckily, the author is half a democrat.
" I shall enclose this to Miss Ingall, and send
it to Devonshire-place. As to my bills, I must
let them go on as they can, for I know not what
are the points with which I ought to find fault;
and if I pitch upon the wrong, it gives the servant
a disagreeable advantage over me.
" I long to know what it is that you are writing,
or, perhaps, I should say, were writing ; for, as
you are something inconstant in your paroxysms
of authorship, you may possibly have laid it aside
M. G. LEWIS. 135
by this time. Part of the character of your
maitresse d'/wtel, I have observed sometimes in
myself 5 though not taken up with the idea of de-
ceiving, you say that she remarks what is said, and
the next day produces your sentiments as her own.
Now I have often, after disputing on the Sunday
upon a subject, taken the contrary side on the
Monday, and used the arguments which were used
against me. However, I never found this succeed
very well ; for as I seldom knew more upon that
side of the question than what I picked up from
others, it was no difficult matter to put my reason-
ing in disorder.
" You need not be under any alarm about me at
the Hague, with respect to the visits of the Car-
magnols. You may depend upon it, that I shall
not wait for their arrival ; and to avoid a disagree-
able encounter in a way somewhat unusual, I shall
take care to be at home, not to chance meeting
them. I allow your receipt against ennui to be a
very good one ; but you mistake in supposing
me to have any thing to do with him. With my
pen, my pencil, my book, my fire, and, above all,
my dog, who is beautiful, I am never weary of soli-
tude. It is only when I go into Dutch company
that I am bored. However, with this French
136 MEMOIRS OF
coterie, I am never in want of society. You may
judge what animals the Dutch must be, when I tell
you, that they brick up their chimneys during the
summer ; and that, till the month of November,
no power on earth would prevail on them to light
a fire. For my own part, I have never been for a
week without one, and now write to you by a very
comfortable blaze.
" Let it console you, and put you into conceit
with your spinnet, to know that Queen Elizabeth
played upon no better an instrument. Mrs. Cuy-
ler is the wife of the general ; which is all that I
know of her. My sisters are now at Broadstairs
with Mrs. Brownrigg. I hear that Barrington is
in wonderful health. Certainly you may direct
your letters to my father. Write to me soon, and
believe me,
" Your most affectionate son,
" M. G. LEWIS."
Here we have a rare instance of an author's per-
severance ; which, as the result proved, was not
in this case without its reward.
" They say," he observes, " that practice makes
perfect ; if so, I shall one day be a perfect author,
for I practise most furiously. What do you think
M. G. LEWIS* 137
of my having written in the space of ten weeks, a
romance of between three and four hundred pages ?
It is called * The Monk.'"
In the foregoing letter, we have seen the origin
of that celebrated book, " The Monk," which, on
its first appearance, roused the attention of all the
literary world of England, and even spread its
writer's fame to the continent. " The Monk/'
the production of a stripling under twenty, and
completed too, in the short space of ten weeks ! Sir
Walter Scott, probably the most rapid composer of
fiction on record, hardly exceeded this even in his
later days, when his facility of writing was the
greatest. And here, uncheered by the influences
of success and fame, attending former works, but
on the contrary, striving against the mortifying
disappointments which had hitherto always followed
his attempts, the dauntless boy dashes off a work
which startles and surprises the public, and ren-
dered his name at once famous ! We do not now
pause to inquire whether the fame he thus gained
was* an enviable one, or to answer the question,
whether " The Monk" is likely to continue a stand-
ard novel in English literature. We merely view
the work at present as the achievement of a youth ;
and the fame, good or bad, which he acquired, as
the reward of his perseverance.
138 MEMOIRS OF
" Hague, Nov. 22, 1794.
" MY DEAR MOTHER,
I return you a thousand thanks for your com-
pliance with my request to send me long letters.
Your last was very acceptable to me, both from
the length of it, and from the assurance which it
contained of your being well, happy, and con-
tented. I was, however, sorry to find from it,
that you have no thoughts of returning to Lon-
don before April, since my father has just re-
called me to England, and I expect to be safely
lodged in Devonshire-place, within three weeks
at latest. You may easily conceive that I feel
very little regret at quitting Holland; more par-
ticularly as the French society is breaking up,
and the people with whom I am most intimate
are going to London nearly at the same time.
Still, my pleasure at finding myself once more in
my native country, will receive no inconsiderable
abatement, if I am to suppose that so long a space
as four months must elapse, before it will be pos-
sible for me to get a sight of you. Besides this,
it is most likely that I shall be sent out of Eng-
land again before April, since Lord Grenville has
assured my father, that whenever he makes a new
arrangement I shall not be forgotten. Now it
will be quite cruel, if I should be in the same
M. G. LEWIS. 139
country with you, and yet obliged to quit it with-
out having had an opportunity of assuring my-
self, by the testimony of my own eyes and ears,
that you are living in health and comfort. How
can we manage this ? Are you too far from the
metropolis for it to be made convenient to you to
make a week's excursion to it ? I have been very
economical in my expenses during my abode in
Holland, as my father himself acknowledges ; I
should, therefore, have no scruple in requesting
him to make me a present of ten or twenty
pounds, should I'argent comptant be the only
obstacle to your paying London a visit sooner
than you at present intend. Have you found
a house to your mind? or have you laid aside
all thoughts of it for this year? I have done
two little drawings for you, if you think them
worth your acceptance : speaking sincerely,
they are very ill executed ; and you will laugh
heartily at the hind quarters of an unfortunate
horse, and the leg of a hero as long as his whole
body. However, they are entirely my own inven-
tion and execution, which may give them value in
your eyes : and as I mean to put them into very
pretty frames, perhaps that circumstance may
make them find grace in those of others.
" Knowing your passion for animals, I have also
140 MEMOIRS OF
procured for you an amazing fine large black cat.
It is the gentlest beast in the world, never mews,
nor has ever been known to scratch or bite. Per-
haps you will already have discovered that the cat
of which I speak is a fur tippet. As we are
threatened with a hard winter, I thought this piece
of dress might be useful and acceptable to you. I
am no judge of furs myself, but I am assured that
the one I have bought for you is very handsome.
It is an Isabella bear skin, and is uncommonly
long and thick. I suppose you would like to have
it sent to you immediately, as it may be no dis-
agreeable companion in your country walks if this
cold weather continues. Let me, therefore, have
a line to say where I shall send it. If you choose
to have it directed to your mattresse dhotel, or
any body else who may be living with you, I can, I
imagine, get a frank from my father, and send it
down to you in Gloucestershire, or any where else,
free of all expense.
" I have been upon a visit to head-quarters at
Arnheim, whence I am just returned, perfectly
satisfied with my expedition. I did not despair
that our affairs upon the continent would take a
better turn, till I was a witness myself of the dis-
orders of the soldiers and discontents of the officers.
Still I hope that England will not make peace ;
M. G. LEWIS. 141
since, at this moment, no conditions can be ex-
pected but the most severe and disgraceful. My
hope is that Holland will make a separate peace,
and remain neutral ; that our troops will be with-
drawn from this country, and employed in defend-
ing our colonies ; and that the emigrants will form
themselves into a body, and throw themselves into
La Vendee.
"As to any thing being done in this villanous
country, it seems to me to be quite out of the
question ; and the late defeats may very easily
be accounted for, when it is considered that the
English are not only obliged to combat against the
French, but against their treacherous and dastardly
allies — the Prussians, Austrians, and Hanoverians.
I arrived at Arnheim two days before the evacu-
ation of Nimeguen, and saw the bombardment of
the bridge, which decided the giving up the town.
The day after I went with Captain Clayton to a
small village called Lent, in which one of our bat-
teries was constructed, and against which the
French cannon from Nimeguen were playing very
briskly. Clayton having to mount the battery,
was obliged to get off his horse, which would have
made him too conspicuous, and he gave it to me
to hold. During his absence I saw two cannon
balls pass through the roof of a house about ten
MEMOIRS OF
yards distant, one after another, and at length a
ball passed through the house under the shelter of
whose roof I was standing, and knocked all the
tiles about my ears : so that you* see my campaign
has not been totally unattended with danger. As
I was coming away from the village, I was much
shocked at seeing a countryman whose leg had
been shot away at that moment, as he was sitting at
his cottage-door, and the same ball carried off the
arm of his child, an infant of three years old, which
he held upon his knee.
"The French are adored wherever they go,
while the allied forces are execrated and detested.
In truth, I am sorry to confess that no ravages
more wanton and unjustifiable were ever committed
in the annals of war, than have been perpetrated by
all the combined army, and more particularly by the
English.
I cannot send you " The Monk " at pre-
sent, as you desire me to do. I shall keep it till
we meet, which I hope we shall do before long.
As I must make up a parcel to you, I will, how-
ever, send you a song and two French letters,
which if you have nothing better to read may pos-
sibly amuse you, as coming from me. To under-
stand the letter I must inform that a lady was one
evening declaring that the English had a great
M. G. LEWIS. 143
share of sensibility, and to prove her assertion,
she recounted her meeting a Captain Brindley at a
Dutch inn, who was very civil to her in getting her
passports, and to whom, as he had no bed, she made
her Jille de chambre give up her room.
" At supper this Mr. Brindley produced a pic-
ture, which resembled the lady herself. He said
he was going to be married to the original, and
concluded by pressing the picture to his lips, and
saying, ' Vous concevez bien, Madame, que cela
me fait bien du plaisirT This expression, which
the lady repeated in the most pathetic tone, and
his making her his confidante at first sight,
amused every body ; and the next day I sent her
the enclosed letters : the words underlined were
expressions used by herself.
" You persist in keeping secret the name and
nature of the work which employs you at present,
and about which I am very curious. For my own
part, I have not written a line excepting the
" Farce" and " The Monk," which is a work of
some length, and will make an octavo volume of
420 pages. There is a great deal of poetry in-
serted, a few lines of which I will send you, in
order that you may apply them, if you have no
objection, to your own present ideas in retirement.
It is an inscription, supposed to be placed over
144 MEMOIRS OF
the door of an artificial hermitage, which forms
the ornament of a convent garden.
" Your suspicions of Emilia Galotte were perfectly
unfounded. I know the German play perfectly well ;
and it is not even by the same author as ' The Mi-
nister.' I see, by the papers, that it has failed. Mrs.
Jordan, very possibly, has forgotten that the play
is in her possession. I think I had better be
silent till her benefit is advertised, and if she does
not bring it out, I shall write a line to inquire
whether it will be in her power to bring it out
next season. I understand that Bannister, though
of course not a well-bred man, is perfectly civil
and modest ; I am therefore surprised at his not
having given an immediate answer. My sisters
are perfectly well, and Barrington gains strength
every day. For my own part I am generally in
excellent health ; but just at this moment I am
labouring under a dreadful headach, as you must
have already discovered from the inconceivable
stupidity of this letter. I shall therefore conclude
for the present, and fill the remainder of my paper
with some verses written ' in gayer hours, while
high my fancy ran.'
" Farewell, my dear mother. Let me hear
from you immediately, and believe me
" Your most affectionate son,
"M. G. LEWIS."
M. G. LEWIS.
POOR SIMON'S MONODY.
You ask what cause my tears supplies
They flow because I'm weeping ;
Nor e'er shall slumber close my eyes
Again, except I'm sleeping.
That I poor Simon's death lament,
No reason for surprise is ;
Oh ! he had been a perfect saint,
If he had had no vices.
His courage did he oft display,
Where drums and cannon rattle,
And never ran from fight away
But when he fled from battle.
He was to speak the truth inclined,
Save when he falsehoods stated ;
And was a friend to all mankind,
Excepting those he hated.
Grim death, alack ! for Simon's woe,
In single combat found him ;
And Simon would not kill his foe,
Because he could not wound him.
Then doctors grave this judgment gave,
" Good sir, you may rely on't,
That if your wound is mortal found,
Tis likely you will die on't."
Yet I'm disposed, I must confess,
To think the doctors wrong here ;
The true cause of his death, I guess,
Was — he could live no longer.
VOL. I. L
146 MEMOIRS OF
These tears, which all my friends devise,
I to his loss am giving ;
Oh ! surely had not Simon died,
He would have now been living !
INSCRIPTION IN AN HERMITAGE.
Whoe'er thou art these lines now reading,
Think not, though from the world receding,
I joy my lonely days to lead in
This desert drear ;
That, with remorse, a conscience bleeding
Hath led me here.
No thought of guilt my bosom sours,
Free-willed I fled from courtly bowers ;
For well I saw, in halls and towers,
That Lust and Pride,
The arch-fiend's darkest, direst powers,
In pomp preside.
I saw mankind with vice incrusted ;
I saw that Honour's sword was rusted ;
That few for aught but folly lusted ;
That he was still deceived who trusted
In love or friend ;
And hither fled, with man disgusted,
My life to end.
1
M. G. LtfwiS. 14-7
In this lone cave, in garments lowly,
Alike a foe to noisy folly,
And sullen brow-bent melancholy,
I wear away
My time ; and in my office holy
Consume the day.
This rock my shield when storms are blowing,
The limpid streamlet yonder flowing-
Supplying drink, the earth bestowing
My simple food ;
But few enjoy the calm I know in
This desert rude.
Content and comfort bless me more in
This grot, than e'er I felt before in
A palace ; and, with thoughts still soaring
To God on high,
Each morn and night, with voice imploring,
This prayer I sigh :
" Let me, O Lord, from life retire,
Unknown each worldly vain desire,
Remorseful throb, or wanton fire ;
And when I die,
Let rne in this belief expire,
To God I fly."
Stranger, if full of youth and riot,
As yet no woes have marred thy quiet,
Thou haply throw'st a scornful eye at
The hermit's prayer ;
But if thou hast a cause to sigh at
Thy guilt or care ;
L 2
148 JYfE&OIRS OF
If thou hast known false love's vexation,
Or hast been exiled from thy nation,
Or crimes affright thy contemplation,
And make thee pine ;
Oh ! how must thou lament thy station,
And envy mine !
" I have just heard that Colonel Richardson is
living at Rotterdam, for what reason nobody can
tell : he certainly has no business there, and Rot-
terdam is, I suppose, without exception, the dullest
place in the habitable world. He has sold out of
the army, which, at this particular period, he ought
not to have done. — Mrs. Brownrigg gives me the
best possible accounts of Maria's health ; they have
their residences together this summer, at Broad-
stairs. She says that it was impossible for her to
have been more kind, affectionate, and attentive.
You may judge how pleasing these assurances
must be to me, who perfectly dote upon Maria. I
find that my father has taken a box for her at the
Opera, with which she will be highly delighted.
Barrington has achieved mounting a large horse,
and professes his contempt of a pony in very strong
terms : he declares himself aware that he is very
backward, and that he must work hard to regain
all that he has lost. He seems perfectly well con-
tented with his present situation ; a circumstance
M. G. LEWIS.
149
which fills me with astonishment ; for, with re-
spect to myself, the way of living is so uniform, and
though very worthy people, Mr. Buckle and his
wife are so incomparably dull, that a fortnight
passed at Pyrton would be the death of me. You
will be sorry to hear that my father's West India
estates have failed this year almost totally. How-
ever, on the other hand, the war doubles his
salary from government, and as he expressed him-
self to me, he is not going backward in the world.
Once more I beg you to write to me without delay,
and bid you adieu for the present.
" Your most affectionate son,
" M. G. LEWIS."
The above is the last letter from the Hague.
The trouble the writer takes to narrate all he
can find which is likely to amuse his mother —
the frank disclosure of his literary plots and un-
dertakings— the pleasure he evinces in reiterated
assurances of his regard — his dread of leaving
England without seeing her — the trifling atten-
tions as to the fur and the pictures — the lively
raillery in some parts (perhaps, of all others, the
most pleasing portion to a mother in Mrs. Lewis's
situation, as indicating a pleasure of companionship,
and a total absence of slight or neglect) and the
150
MEMOIRS OF
unequivocal kindness which pervades this and all
his preceding letters, are best calculated to dis-
prove the calumnies of those critics of his novel of
" The Monk ;" who, in their rancorous severity
towards the author, went, in more than one in-
stance, to the unwarrantable length of attacking
his character as a man.
M. G. LEWIS. 151
CHAPTER VI.
" The Monk"— Romantic fiction.
THE first and greatest era in the literary life of
Lewis was the publication of " Ambrosio, or
The Monk," which event took place in the summer
of 1795; and it is not too much to say that no
writer, by a maiden production, ever obtained such
rapid and extensive celebrity. " The Monk " had
scarcely appeared, than it was vigorously assailed by
the reviewers, with their sharpest critical weapons,
on the score of its immorality ; but, as in the
instances of Lord Byron's "Cain" and "Don
Juan," this very condemnation of its principles
rendered the novel more eagerly sought after, and
more generally read.
" This singular composition," said one critic,*
" which has neither originality, morals, nor pro-
* In the London Review for February, 1797, vol. xxxi., p. 3.
MEMOIRS OF
lability to recommend it, has excited, and will
continue to excite, the curiosity of the public.
Such is the irresistible energy of genius." — Such
indeed ! Had the materials of this romance been
worked up by an inferior hand, not even the
vicious but too general appetite of the public for
the wild and extraordinary in fiction, would have
rescued it from obscurity. Modelled upon a de-
scription of fable in which probability is totally
disregarded, and moral taste almost scorned, no-
thing but such mental capacity and literary power
as Lewis possessed, could have procured for ' The
Monk ' even a limited popularity ; for if we lay
aside the test of the most commonplace morality,
and apply that of mere literary criticism, the novel
appears to be nearly devoid of originality ; of which
it is completely stripped in the following notice :
" The outline of Ambrosio's story was suggested
by that of the Santon Barissa in the * Guardian \*
the form of temptation is borrowed from that in
The Devil in Love, by Canzotte ; and the catas-
trophe is taken from The Sorcerer. The adven-
tures of Raymond and Agnes are less obviously
imitations ; yet the forest scene near Strasburg
brings to mind an incident in Smollett's Ferdinand
Count Fathom ; the bleeding nun is described by
the author as a popular tale of the Germans ; and
M. G. LEWIS. 153
the convent prison resembles the inflictions of
Mrs. Radcliffe."*
But the skill with which these tributary models
were combined, and recast into a captivating and
impressive story, was universally admitted. " The
Monk " procured for its author the character of a
genius of no common order. " He every where
discovers an imagination rich, powerful, and
fervid," wrote one reviewer.-}- Another critic-
speaking of the wiles employed to allure the Monk,
and of which he became the victim — remarks, with
more humour than delicacy — " Indeed, the whole
temptation is so artfully contrived, that a man,
it would seem, were he made as other men are,
would deserve to be d — d who could resist such
devilish spells, conducted with such address, and
assuming such a heavenly form."t
So generally was the attention of all classes
directed towards "The Monk" and its author,
and so extensively was it read, that serious appre-
hensions were excited in the minds of benevolent
persons, lest the work should contaminate the
public morals ; and about a twelvemonth after its
publication, the Attorney-general was actually
* Monthly Review, June 1797, vol xxiii., p. 451.
f Critical Review, vol. xix., p. 194.
j Analytical Review for 1796, vol. xxiv., p. 403.
154 MEMOIRS OF
instructed, by one of the societies for the suppres-
sion of vice, to move for an injunction to restrain
its sale. To use the language of the law, a rule
nisi was obtained, and the young author did not
think proper to show cause against it. The rule,
however, was never made absolute, and the prose-
cution was dropped.
From a second edition of his romance, Lewis
expunged what he conceived to be all the objec-
tionable passages ; yet, even in its improved state,
the work is still unfit for general perusal.
The odium which " The Monk " cast upon its
young author was a source of great pain to his
family ; and, in consequence of some expressions
used by his father on the subject, Lewis saw fit to
write him the following letter, which strikingly
illustrates how much he had imbibed the false
ideas so generally entertained by writers of
fiction at that period. This letter appeared a few
years ago in the " New Monthly Magazine," to
which it was sent by a friend of Lewis, in conse-
quence of some strictures which some other friend
had taken the opportunity of the novelist's death
to publish in " The Courier" newspaper.
" February 23, 1798.
" MY DEAR FATHER,
Though certain that the clamours against
M. G. LEWIS. 1 55
' The Monk ' cannot have given you the smallest
doubt of the rectitude of my intentions, or the
purity of my principles, yet I am conscious that it
must have grieved you to find any doubts on the
subject existing in the minds of other people. To
express my sorrow for having given you pain, is
my motive for now addressing you ; and also to
assure you that you shall not feel that pain a
second time on my account. Having made you
feel it at all, would be a sufficient reason, had I not
others, to make me regret having published the
first edition of * The Monk ;' but I have others,
weaker indeed than the one mentioned, but still
sufficiently strong. I perceive that I have put
too much confidence in the accuracy of my own
judgment ; that, convinced of my object being
unexceptionable, I did not sufficiently examine
whether the means by which I attained that object
were generally so ; and that, upon many accounts,
I have to accuse myself of high imprudence. Let
me, however, observe that TWENTY is not the age
at which prudence is most to be expected. Inex-
perience prevented my distinguishing what would
give offence ; but as soon as I found that offence
was given, I made the only reparation in my
power : I carefully revised the work, and expunged
every syllable on which could be grounded the
156 MEMOIRS OF
slightest construction of immorality. This, indeed,
was no difficult task ; for the objections rested en-
tirely on expressions too strong, and words "care-
lessly chosen ; not on the sentiments, characters,
or general tendency of the work.
"That the latter is undeserving censure, Addison
will vouch for me : the moral and outline of my
story are taken from an allegory inserted by him
in 'The Guardian/ and which he commends
highly, for ability of invention and propriety of
object. Unluckily, in working it up, I thought
that the stronger my colours, the more effect would
my picture produce ; and it never struck me, that
the exhibition of vice, in her temporary triumph,
might possibly do as much harm as her final ex-
posure and punishment would do good. To do
much good, indeed, was more than I expected of
my book; having always believed that our con-
duct depends on our own hearts and characters,
not upon the books we read or the sentiments we
hear. But though I did not expect much benefit
to arise from the perusal of a trifling romance,
written by a youth of twenty, I was in my own
mind quite certain that no harm could be produced
by a work whose subject was furnished by one of
our best moralists, and in the composition of which
I did not introduce a single incident, or a single
M. G. LEWIS. 157
character, without meaning to inculcate some
maxim universally allowed. It was, then, with
infinite surprise that I heard the outcry raised
against the book, and found that a few ill-judged
and unguarded passages totally obscured its ge-
neral tendency.
" To support the charge of irreligion, a single
one only has been, or can be, produced. I am
heartily sorry that this passage was ever pub-
lished; but I must say, that I have been very
unfairly treated respecting it. Those who have
made it the subject of public censure, have uni-
formly omitted such parts as would have palliated
those offensive expressions. Those expressions,
certainly, are much too strong, and I now see
that their style is irreverent ; but it was not in-
tended to be such, nor was the passage meant to
counsel any more than that the bible should not
be read before a certain age, when its perusers
would be capable of benefiting by its precepts and
admiring its beauties. It also suggested the pro-
priety of not putting certain passages before the
eyes of very young persons. This advice I was
induced to give from experience ; for I know that
schoolboys do not (neither, if my informers may
be credited, do schoolgirls) always read particular
chapters of the bible for the purpose of edification.
158 MEMOIRS OF
In stating this, I thought, by representing the
advice as having been given to the heroine
by her mother — a woman pious and sensible —
I had guarded against the idea of attacking the
bible.
" My precaution was ineffectual : I have given
offence ; I am sorry for having given it. I have
omitted the passage ; and can now do no more
than say, that neither in this, nor any other part of
' The Monk,' had I the slightest idea that what
I was then writing could injure the principles,
moral or religious, of any human being. Since
this work, I have published others ; and, taught by
experience, I have avoided the insertion of any
word that could possibly admit of misrepresenta-
tion. As their propriety has not been questioned,
I trust that I have succeeded in the attempt ; and
I do not despair of some time or other convincing
my censurers that they have totally mistaken both
me and my principles. Those principles I need
not justify to you, my dear father : I need only
again request your pardon for the uneasiness
which this business has given you, and beg you to
believe me,
" Your most affectionate son,
61 M. G. LEWIS."
M. G. LEWIS. 159
The young romancist was not long left to fight his
battle single-handed. In 1798 a poem appeared
anonymously, entitled " An Epistle in Rhyme to
M. G. Lewis," the object of which was not, per-
haps, so much to defend the subject of it against
the charge of impurity in his writings, as to ridicule
those who had made it. The satire was highly
praised at the time, though the name of its author
never, to our knowledge, transpired. About the
same period another advocate penned a long 'article
in the " Monthly Mirror,5' which he entitled
" An Apology for the Monk ;" but, as such,
it was a most unfortunate one,, for it rather tended
to implicate Lewis deeper, than to exculpate him
from the blame he had drawn upon himself. In-
deed, these apologies, like most such attempts, only
served to keep alive public attention to a question
which it would have been better for the reputation
of Lewis never to have agitated.
It is not to be disguised that this portion of the
memoir brings us to the most difficult and unpleas-
ing part of our task. Of the justice of the general
condemnation pronounced upon "The Monk,"
there can be no question ; and it is to be deeply
deplored that talents such as the young author
displayed, had not devoted their early freshness to
160 MEMOIRS OF
some more worthy object. His celebrity would
then have been unalloyed with censure ; for, despite
his errors of judgment — to use no harsher term—
the praises drawn forth by the superior talents he
so early evinced, were not grudgingly bestowed.
If it be difficult to account for the motives which
could have induced a well-bred and highly-educated
gentleman to jeopardize his private reputation by
publishing such a work, it is surely equally difficult
to conjecture why it was so generally read. That
the public should have so highly patronised that
which it so unequivocally condemned, argues that
the " gentle readers" of the time at which the work
appeared, had either acquired a taste for being dis-
gusted ; or that they derived a degree of pleasure
from a source which they were ashamed to own. It is
certain that no time could have been better chosen
for the publication of such a romance, than one at
which the general taste was warped towards the wild
and extravagant. Other fictions of a hardly less
objectionable tendency had prepared the way for
" The Monk ;" and that the author was encouraged
to write it from example, and that the public was
led to read it from habit, there can be little question.
How " Ambrosio" < came to be so universally
tolerated, can only be accounted for by con-
sidering the state and tastes of the "reading
M. G. LEWIS. 161
public" at the time that imaginary hero made so
great a stir. How those morbid tastes were first
formed, and how they came to be so matured as to
derive pleasure and amusement from the many im-
moralities contained in " The Monk," we propose
to show by a rapid sketch of the rise and progress
of romantic fiction in this country. Commengons,
done, au commencement.
The learned have expended a vast deal of re-
search in endeavouring to trace the origin of ro-
mance, without any other result than the una-
nimous conclusion, that it is involved in obscurity.
Indeed, it is of little moment whether this species
of fiction be of Arabic invention, spread over
Europe by the Saracens of Spain, and conveyed
hither by the more recent channel- of the
Crusades ; or whether its actual birthplace was
in this quarter of the globe, and that we are
indebted for it to the scalds or bards of Norway
and Sweden. Certain it is, that if romance was
invented by any one person, his name deserves to
be rescued from oblivion ; for it is equally certain
that so high a claim to originality can never be
established for succeeding authors ; inasmuch as
story-writers are invariably indebted to their pre-
decessors ; and he who complained that " the
ancients had stolen his best thoughts from him,"
VOL, I. M
162 MEMOIRS OF
did not lament in vain. " It is wonderful," says
a writer in the " Quarterly Review,"* " how little
pure invention is to be met with in the world, and
with what difficulty we trace a popular story to its
source. To cry 'stop thief 'is vain, when the property,
istransferredfromhandtohand, in endless succession,
with so much expedition and secrecy. The most
we can do is to trace a literary theft to Homer ;
and yet it is contrary to all experience to suppose
that a poem so complete in its structure, so me-
lodious in its verse, so finished in its language,
should have been \hefirst of its kind."
It has been stated that the ancients had
no romance ;t but though they have left us no
traces of writings drawn entirely from the imagina-
tion, yet their poems and plays sufficiently attest,
that, notwithstanding, these were "founded on
fact," yet the facts were heightened and il-
lustrated by imagination. Hence it has been
truly said,t that romance and real history have one
common origin. It is not improbable that
ancient writers, having embellished and coloured
their records with fancy, the modern ones, rejecting
* Vol. xxx., p. 41.
f By Percy Kurd, Wharton, &c.
j By Sir Walter Scott, in the Supplement to the " Encyclopaedia
Britannica." Art. " Romance."
M. G. LEWIS. 163
the facts, have imitated and borrowed from the
imaginative flights of the old historians and poets ;
and thus did romance take its rise. We diffidently
put forth this hypothesis, as one by which the
origin of story-telling might have been traced by
the erudite, without the aid of that figure which
the vulgar call circumbendibus.
Even the most barbarous nations, who are sup-
posed to have known nothing of the "fine old
Greeks," and their literary productions, have always
delighted in recording the deeds of their heroes ;
and it was an easy expedient, when genuine heroes
proved scarce, to substitute imaginary ones. But
so great is the affection of mankind for truth, that
it was long ere the foundation of romance ceased
to be laid upon some actual event, or in praise of some
real but celebrated character. The first productions
of the latter kind are short narratives or ballads,
some of which are not without flashes of genius,
but brief, rude, and often obscure. The song of
The Battle of Bounenburgh, preserved in the
Saxon Chronicle, is a genuine and curious speci-
men of this aboriginal style of poetry.
But the most favourable epoch for romance was the
period of chivalry. In those days heroes abounded.
There was no want of material for the minstrel,
upon which to exercise his fancy ; and as " a story
M 2
164 MEMOIRS OF
loses nothing by the telling," so, as a simple tale
passed from mouth to mouth, it was magnified and
amplified into a marvellous one. The figure of
hyperbole is found to have existed at this period,
in the most flourishing condition. Skirmishes were
elevated into battles ; every warrior was not only
a hero, but sometimes had attributed to him the
powers of a magician ; and young ladies, if they
only happened to be " of high degree," were de-
scribed as saints and angels. Imagination was so
powerfully employed, that it conjured up necro-
mancers, monsters of hideous form, &c., with such
effect, that their actual existence became a matter
of belief, and metrical romances soon lost the charac-
ter of historical or legendary chronicles, which they
had before assumed ; — so much less difficult was
it to contrive wonderful adventures, and to portray
paragons of bravery and virtue, than to seek out
persons who had encountered the one, or who ex-
emplified the other. Romance, therefore, gradually
became the offspring of pure fancy.
So powerful an effect had these fictions upon the
ignorant and easily -excited minds of the people to
whom they were addressed, that they fired them
with a romantic zeal to emulate the deeds coined
from the brains of the poets ; and thus the rule
became inverted : heretofore heroes gave life to
M. G. LEWIS. 165
romances, now romances created heroes. Knight-
errantry started up to protect the defenceless, to
reward the virtuous, and to punish the guilty ; in
short, to set every thing in this world to rights, vi
et armis. Aspiring champions set out in quest of
adventures, wherever they were most likely to
meet with them ; their breasts glowing with the
hope of encountering the most terrible dangers,
and of emulating the deeds described by the
popular romancist.
If knight-errantry derived its existence from
romance, it received its death-blow from a similar
source. — In an obscure prison in Spain there
languished one who was destined to achieve its
downfall ; a man whose solitary lot removed him
from every sphere of adventure. Cervantes, to
beguile his weary hours, wrote " Don Quixote,"
which, while the work conferred immortality upon
its author, finally disposed of the few mortal re-
mains which were left of knight-errantry.
But previous to this era, there appeared a genius
in our own land, who infinitely surpassed his pre-
decessors in the arts of fiction and poetry. This
was Geoffery Chaucer. His genius was universal,
and adapted to themes of unbounded variety. His
merit was not less in painting familiar manners
166 MEMOIRS OF
with humour and propriety, than in moving the
passions, and in representing the beautiful and the
grand objects of nature with grace and sublimity.
" In a word, he appeared in all the lustre and dig-
nity of a true poet, in an age which compelled him
to struggle with a barbarous language, and a na-
tional want of taste, and when to write verses at
all was a singular qualification."*
To Chaucer, then, we may trace the intro-
duction of those details of manners, and descrip-
tions of ordinary life, which blend so happily with
the more glaring and marvellous events of ro-
mance.
The reign of Elizabeth was as favourable to
romance in England, as it was to national pro-
sperity. Chivalry had become modified; and,
stripped of its more extravagant attributes, it left
behind a code of high honour in social life, and a
complete and universal hommage aux dames. Loy-
alty to the liege lady was a ruling passion, and the
"virgin queen" was made the heroine of many a
romance, under every possible title, from Venus to
Cloe, from Aurora to Philomel. If we instance
Spenser's " Faery Queen," it may be truly said
that the age of Elizabeth was never matched in
* History of English Poetry, vol i., p. 457.
M. G. LEWIS, 167
this department of literature. Among those who
contributed to it we find the name of Sidney,
and even that of William Shakspeare.
The hard but glorious struggle of the Refor-
mation, caused an hiatus in the history of romance
during the succeeding century. Many a fatal and
bitter romance of real life took the place of fic-
titious ones ; and it was not till the time of
Charles II. that romantic fiction again appeared
in the republic of letters.
The profligate court of the " merry monarch "
was by no means a fitting soil for the production
of that class of poetry of which romance is the
offspring, and which requires so much of the ideal
for its proper sustenance. Sensuality banished
poetry of a high order. Poetry did not then appeal
to the mind, but to the senses ; and it is not sur-
prising that the first English novel which was pub-
lished in this age, served only as a vehicle for the
portrayal of profligate adventures, and for the
display and recommendation of loose and immoral
characters. Indeed, under other circumstances,
the romances of chivalry would have lost their
power to please. A general change had taken
place in the manners of Europe. Tournaments
had long been abolished, and single combats
ceased to be allowed. Dragons, necromancers,
168 MEMOIRS OF
and enchanted castles, lost their power ; but their
spells were superseded by the less poetical, but
more barbarous belief in witchcraft. The min-
strel's lays were unheeded, that the stories of the
"witchfinder" might be more gravely and atten-
tively listened to.
In the reign of James II. there was other and
more vital business in progress than writing or
reading books of tales. The bloodless revolution
of 1688 commenced its agitation the moment the
bigoted brother of a profligate prince began his
reign, and gave little opportunity for the exercise
of the pen of the poet or romancist. The suc-
cessor of James possessed a mind of so commercial
a character, that it extended its influence over his
subjects, to the exclusion of so unprofitable a com-
modity as fiction : in the days of William III.,
the novel was displaced by the ledger ; and the
nation — busy in the study of political economy —
abandoned the poet to his garret, and left the
romance unread upon the shelves of the book-
seller.
But from this torpor the belles lettres were soon
to be roused. The age called the Augustan im-
mediately succeeded; and that band of British
essayists arose to illumine the crown of Anne,
who, by their genius, gave to fiction a new im-
M. G. LEWIS. 169
press. The essentially romantic had long been
annihilated ; unblushing details of vice, unqualified
by any good purpose, no longer gave pleasure ;
and lively exemplifications of morality, and of the
diversities of human character, happily took their
place. Dry and formal essays, which at first
occupied the talents of writers and the attention of
readers, soon came to be enlivened by short and
pleasing stories modelled from real life, in which
the best precepts of morality, instead of being
sternly inculcated, were pleasingly insinuated, and
brought home to the heart of the reader. These
miniature sketches laid the foundation for a style
of writing which soon became highly popular ; —
namely, the " sentimental novel ;" and it is singu-
lar that this very school — one, the avowed inten-
tion of which was to hold up virtue for imitation,
and vice for scorn and hatred — sowed the first
seeds of that distorted taste which received the
novel of the " Monk" with such avidity.
Unfortunately, in these novels, the axiom that
" out of evil springe th good," was inverted. With
the best intentions of inculcating virtuous senti-
ments, the attempt was too often tried of exciting
a detestation of vice, by painting its lineaments,
and even its allurements, in the most glowing
colours ; and thus out of the intended good sprung
170 MEMOIRS OF
a great evil ; — an evil which was never more ap-
parent, than in the romance whose author forms the
subject of these pages. " Pamela," " Clarissa Har-
lowe," and other novels in a similar style, were
put into the hands of young persons as patterns of
morality : yet scenes of depravity and iniquitous
sentiments were set forth for their avoidance, as
examples of virtue were pictured for their imita-
tion. This, we presume, was done upon the
principle that,
" Vice is a monster of such hideous mien,
As to be hated, needs but to be seen ;"
than which, no maxim was ever more hazardous
in the application. Vice, unhappily, has its
allurements as well as virtue. The error of the
Spartans, in inebriating their helots, to exhibit
drunkenness in its most odious form, and to deter
the Lacedemonian youth from the vice, has long
been allowed. No person is mad enough to enter
the paths of vice for the sole purpose of doing
wrong, but because it is anticipated that some
pleasures are to be procured by the way. Were
we kept in ignorance of the road, we could not
of course follow it ; and the human mind is prone
enough to evil, without being taught the path
which leads to it ; — to which the moral novels we
have mentioned too surely pointed.
M. G. LEWIS, 171
We need only mention the " Rasselas " of Dr.
Johnson, and the most complete and touching pic-
ture of English manners that ever appeared—-
Goldsmith's "Vicar of Wakefield " — to show that
the error we have pointed out was not universally
followed. But such exceptions were, unfortunately,
rare, and other writers carried out the too general
mistake to the most pernicious limits ; rejecting
the best parts of the works of Sterne, Richardson,
Cumberland, &c., and copying their most excep-
tionable traits. Henry Fielding may be cited as
an example : with the highest order of talent,
some wit, and a rich but coarse vein of humour,
he chose to paint the degraded parts of human life,
and causedeifects the more injurious from their being
heightened by the genius which produced them.
At a time when sentiment, good or bad, was so
eagerly sought for, Goethe's " Sorrows of Werter "
was translated into English, and being exactly
suited to the tastes of novel-readers it gained an
extensive popularity. Though the book abounded
with the most overstrained sentiments, these were
not the less relished for taking a wrong direction,
and for being expended upon an improper object.
The mine of German fiction being thus opened,
was speedily and industriously worked. Tales of
MEMOIRS OF
the most thrilling horror, and extravagant im-
probability, were imported from the land of
metaphysics and misanthropy; through whose
pages demons stalked, shrouded in mystery, and
dealt around despair, without the smallest " remorse
or mitigation of conscience." Disappointed lovers
were made to rack their invention upon the most
appalling expedients for ending their woes ; till
the dreams of dyspeptic lunacy " could no further
go." The quiet pictures of domestic life, and the
less hurtful details of smaller vices, were no longer
considered as sufficiently stimulating. Violent
contrast, unnatural incident, and unheard-of crimes
were only to be tolerated. A tale which appealed
to the reason, was considered dull and prosy ; the
passions must be roused, and the universal cry was
for excitement.
This appetite was not long in being supplied
from a new source. " The Castle of Otranto "
came out ; and was alleged by its author, Ho-
race Walpole, to have been translated from a
manuscript found in an old castle in Italy.
Italian romances now became the order of the day,
and, as they also dealt in supernatural horrors,
they found ready encouragement. It was, how-
ever, discovered that the pretended translator of
M. G. LEWIS. 173
the " Castle of Otranto " was its author : but this
discovery did not lessen the popularity of the
work ; or of others similar to it.
Following in nearly the same track, Mrs. Anne
Radcliffe made, by her writings, a most powerful and
extensive impression. While she copied the mar-
vellous characteristics of the German school, she
had the good taste to reject all its immoralities.
Though she held the reader's imagination on the
utmost stretch of curiosity and expectation, no
shade of impropriety mingled with the traits of her
glowing pencil. She described with equal felicity
the tranquillity of the moon-lit scene, and the howl-
ings of the midnight storm. Her instruments of
terror, though occasionally bordering on the fri-
volous, were managed with such skill as to lead the
reader with undiminished interest through her
pages. All her apparent wonders were explained,
and brought within the comprehension of huma-
nity. Her figures are so vividly delineated, that
she well deserves the epithet we once heard happily
applied to a poet, of a " Sculptor Novelist."
In the inclination of the public appetite for
extravagance, which had been re-awakened by a
host of bad imitators of the Radcliffe school,
we find a solution for the problem of the great
success of "The Monk." From reading these
174 MEMOIRS OF
senseless and exceptionable works, it is pos-
sible that the hitherto unfledged author felt how
high a flight his genius could take, were he to try
its powers ; and, blind to the faults of his models,
he knew how much more attractively he could
enshrine materials (of the baseness of which he was
ignorant), in the glowing imagery and fervid
diction with which his muse supplied him. The
excuse of extreme youth, forcibly urged in his let-
ter to his father, is by no means invalid. If
Lewis wrote "The Monk'' at a period of life
when the brain is easily fired by the wildest and
warmest fantasies of imagination, it was also at a
time when the judgment is not sufficiently matured
to check their influence.
As we have before pleaded, the author must be
separated from the man. Of the character of the
latter, the public has hitherto had no better evi-
dence than the offsprings of Lewis's wild and eccen-
tric fancy. To show how positively erroneous such
a test is, we need only refer to his letters ; all of
which exhibit the strongest good-sense, and
display the best of hearts. The tenderness and
delicacy of his filial affection, so diametrically op-
posed to the deformity of his muse, is a triumphant
answer to the charge of wrong intention in the
composition of his much-censured novel ; for he
M. G. LEWIS. 175
who could think so wisely, and feel so deeply and
sensitively, would hardly have been guilty of deli-
berate literary immorality, if his judgment had not
been carried away by his too easily excited ima-
gination. We make these excuses for the private
character of Matthew Lewis ; for his literary one,
it is but too certain, there are few to offer.
The popularity of " The Monk" left a stain
upon public taste, which was not long in being
removed ; and if we continue our imperfect sketch,
of the progress of romantic fiction to the present
time, one great inducement is the opportunity it
affords us of naming Sir Walter Scott ; although,
perhaps, a prudent biographer would hesitate to
force upon the reader a contrast so much to the
disadvantage of his hero.
The novels of the " wizard of the north," fol-
lowing, as they did, the talented but worldly-
minded productions of Miss Edgworth, happily
annihilated the class of works among which that of
Lewis was so prominent. They proved that the
deepest and most thrilling interest was to be in-
voked and sustained, without the aid of the
wild or supernatural ; while the sympathies were
awakened by historical associations, and kept
alive by natural delineations of ordinary life. Im-
parting, as the Scotch novels did, a more solid
MEMOIRS OF
and healthy tone to the taste of " light readers,"
the monstrous and supernatural in fiction — having
done their worst — were quietly consigned to the
graves from which they might be said to have
originally sprung.
The romances of Scott were followed by a class
of ephemera, which, addressing itself to a leading
peculiarity in the national character, met with
great, though transient, success. We allude to
the fashionable novels. There is a large pro-
portion of what is termed the " middle class,"
who are continually struggling to raise themselves
higher in the scale of society than the sphere in
which they are placed ; persons who are troubled,
like Foote's lame lover, with the paltry ambition
of " fastening in public upon men of distinction for
no other reason than because of their rank ; ad-
hering to Sir John, till the baronet is superseded
by my lord ; quitting the puny peer for an earl ;
and sacrificing all three for a duke." When
this kind of ambition cannot be satisfied by
actually " fastening" upon the great, the victims
of it are contented with merely aping their
manners and habits. To such a class, novels
which pretended to give accurate representations
of what is said and done at " Almack's," amongst
"The Exclusives," &c., were found highly ac-
M. G. LEWIS. 177
ceptable ; but their popularity was short-lived,
perhaps from tantalizing their readers with
glimpses of that paradise of high life, which they
knew it to be impossible for them to attain
The actions, foibles, and opinions of "great
people," having been laid bare before the wonder-
ing eyes of the humbler classes, it was but poetical
justice that the doings of the "base, common, and
popular," should be described to the fashionable
world. For this purpose, a famous wit undertook
to explore " the remote regions of Russell-square,"
and an equally famous, but somewhat affected
legislator, dived into the recesses of St. Giles's.
Descriptions of tenth-rate dinner-parties took the
place of minute details of fashionable ennui-ism ;
and pictures of the lowest of low life were con-
veyed to the higher classes, by the aid of the
slang dictionary. To these has succeeded a far
better order of things in this particular depart-
ment of fiction. A genius has lately sprung up
who, steering midway between the inanities of
high life and the vulgar depths of its antipodes, is
producing, with astonishing celerity, a class of
novels, whose only model is nature. The mantle
of the novelist has alighted upon Dickens ; and a
bold, manly tone of sentiment, an unequalled per-
ception of the peculiarities of human character,
VOL. I. N
178
MEMOIRS OF
besides powers of unexampled truthfulness in de-
scription, were never combined in any one writer,
to render him better entitled to wear it.
Having endeavoured to show that the popular
mind was, at the time " The Monk" came out, in
a condition not only to tolerate but to derive
pleasure from the perusal of the work, and that
the force of example is to be justly pleaded in
favour of one who, as its author, has been so
severely censured, — we have only again to refer
our readers to Lewis's private letters. That his
great literary error must not be attributed to want
of moral principles, but to defective judgment,
these epistles will, we are sure, place beyond a
doubt.
M. G. LEWIS. 179
CHAPTER VII.
Reception in society — Anecdote — Parliament — Retirement— Visits
to Inverary Castle — Love — " Crazy Jane" — Wild air — Private
theatricals—" The bugle"— Unpublished MSS.
WHATEVER were the merits or demerits of "The
Monk," certain it is that it procured for Lewis,
on his return to England, a most flattering recep-
tion in the best society. Few young writers, with
the exception perhaps of Lord Byron, was ever
more courted or caressed. The first names in
rank and talent sought his society ; he was the lion
of every fashionable party ; and it is whispered also,
that, in spite of his somewhat plain features and in-
significant figure, his romance made him a general
favourite in the eyes of the fair : perhaps not the
least gratifying reward of genius, to a writer who
had just completed his twentieth year.
Lewis bore his new honours with the greatest
N 2
180 MEMOIRS OF
modesty. He was never much depressed by the
censures, or elevated by the praises of the world.
His love of literature, both in writing and in study,
amounted almost to a passion, and he often affirmed,
that the praise which some of his best-received
works obtained from the public, never produced
him half the pleasure which he had derived in
writing them.
Soon after the publication of " The Monk,"
being one evening at a large party, of the
guests at which he knew but little, and amongst
whom he himself was comparatively unknown, a
lady — a perfect stranger to him — was descanting
with considerable volubility on literary subjects ;
when, suddenly addressing Lewis, she inquired,
" Have you read this strange new work, called
' The Monk ?' "
" Really, madam," replied Lewis, " I don't
think I should have patience to do so."
" Ah ! perhaps that sort of reading is not to
your taste* but I assure you I know those who have
read ' The Monk,' and have been so horrified and
so — enchained ! — Well, really the author must be a
most extraordinary — a wonderful man ; — I should
like so much to be in his company ! Confess, now,
— shouldn't you ?"
" Why, as to that, madam," replied the young
M. G. LEWIS. 181
author, " I rather think I should find his company
a bore."
On this, a conversation, or rather a discussion,
immediately arose, on the subject of " The Monk,"
which was rendered yet more amusing to Lewis, by
several of the debaters affirming that they had the
" honour" of being intimately acquainted with him-
self.
Lewis was now mingling in the highest circles
of fashion, was flatteringly noticed at court, and,
to add to these distinctions, almost immediately on
his becoming of age, obtained a seat in Parlia-
ment. He succeeded the celebrated Mr. Beckford,
of Fonthill Abbey, in the representation of Hindon,
in Wiltshire, for which place he sat for some
sessions. But the senate had no charms for the
young poet. His parliamentary career was brief
and inglorious ; he never once attempted to ad-
dress the house ; his attendance soon became
extremely irregular ; and in a few years he retired
from it altogether.
But, although he displayed no ambition for the
laurels of a statesman, he was far from forsaking
the course which wins them for an author. He
continued to write with unabated industry, and
pursued the study of German literature with ardour
and enthusiasm. Neither the allurements of plea-
18%
MEMOIRS OF
sure, the gaieties of fashion, nor the blandishments
of the great, in any way lessened his attachment
to literature and retirement. But in order to have
the means of both in a greater degree in his power,
he hired apartments in a neat little cottage at
Barnes ; and in this retreat he spent many de-
lightful hours, in the enjoyment of pleasures more
congenial to the poet's taste, than can ever be
afforded by the society of the world.
In his mother's residence he always found a
gladsome smile of greeting, and a heart equally
ready to share his triumphs or his woes. Often
would he decline a seat at the courtly board, to
spend a quiet evening in her society, when, after
dinner, drawing his chair towards the fire, he
would take some half-finished manuscript from his
pocket, and read, for her approval, his labours of
the preceding day. Or if a new play or opera
had come out, which he imagined was likely to
amuse her, he never failed to apprize her of it, and
accompany her to the theatre. New books, also,
he hunted out for her perusal ; and, by a thousand
little attentions — rendered yet more grateful to
her by the comparative seclusion in which she
lived — abundantly testified what he had before ex-
pressed in one of his letters, — that he considered
it to be " the first and dearest duty of humanity" to
JVK G. LEWIS. 183
contribute to the comforts of a parent. Of a host
of letters, illustrative of this pleasing communion
between his mother and himself, we select the
following, chiefly on account of its brevity.
" Barnes.
" MY DEAR MOTHER,
" I return a letter. I am contented with Barnes
till I can get a place to purchase, and, therefore,
make your Leatherhead arrangements as suits you
best. Before you leave it I mean to pass a day or
two there with you, but had rather come nearer
the time of your departure than just at present, as
I am working very hard, both in the reading and
writing way. Have you read Cowper's * Task ?' It
is a long poem, making part of one of the volumes
of his poems. If not, read it ; it will suit your taste
exactly : it is not quite to mine (though I like it
much), as you will find when you read it. I must
apprize you though (lest you should triumph too
much), that I understand the author died stark
staring mad, and rather too mad to have it mis-
taken for inspiration. Godwin's * Enquirer,' and
Behmen's * Prophecies,' will make a charming
Salmagundi of your ideas.
" I forget whether I have heard from Mrs. R.
lately. I am truly sorry to hear of your late
184 MEMOIRS OJ
illness ; but as you do not mention your arm, I
trust it is quite well ; if not, pray have some
advice. I earnestly request that you will not let
money be any consideration. Nothing would give
me greater pain than to suppose any pecuniary
idea made you treat your health slightly, while I
possessed a single guinea.
" Your affectionate son,
" M. G. LEWIS.
" I have begun a tragedy, in blank verse ; but
I stuck in the third act, at a reconciliation between
a king and a princess, the two stupidest people I
ever met with."
The elder Lewis, it is said, was not a little mor-
tified at his son having preferred the pursuits of lite-
rature to the political life which he had assigned him ;
but he, nevertheless, permitted him to follow his
own course; allowing him an income of one thousand
a year, besides otherwise affording him every coun-
tenance and support which it was in his power to
bestow. It was not until many years after this
period that an estrangement took place between
them ; and then, as will afterwards appear, it was
entirely owing to the intervention of a third party.
The epithet of " Monk Lewis " was early con-
ferred upon him ; by this name he was generally
M. G. LEWIS. 185
known, and not unfrequently ignorantly addressed.
He often received letters directed to " Monk
Lewis, Esq.," and the press gave him no other desig-
nation. On this subject, however, he always dis-
played the most perfect indifference, and he even
tells his mother, in a subsequent letter, that he is
just as well pleased with that name as with any
other. Moreover, he, at one time, maintained a long
correspondence with a literary acquaintance, with-
out once correcting this blunder, — to which his
real name, " Matthew" (the only initial he used
in his signature), must have not a little con-
tributed.
In his early friends Lewis was extremely
fortunate. He numbered among them the most
distinguished men of his day, not for rank alone,
but also for genius, and the more captivating
graces of character. Sir Walter Scott, and latterly
Moore, Byron, and Shelley, as well as the present
Earl Grey, Lords Melbourne and Holland, and
many others whose names, like his own, have since
been written in the scroll of fame, maintained the
closest communion of friendship with the author of
" The Monk."
But where is " the Life" in which an opportunity
does not present itself, for the biographer to ex-
patiate on a yet more cherished feeling than
186
MEMOIRS OF
friendship — that master-chord to which every
other passion in our nature is attuned, and which
in all ages has been the universal theme ? Cer-
tainly not in the memoirs of a poet, who above all
others is the most likely to receive those im-
pressions, and experience those feelings, which
his muse delights the most to awaken and to
illustrate.
At Inverary Castle, the ancient seat of the
noble family of Argyle, Lewis first felt the in-
fluence of a " bright particular star," which, if
it did not entirely rule his destiny, certainly held a
powerful influence over his future life. It was
Lady Charlotte Campbell, the daughter of his
host, — a lady no less celebrated for the graces of
personal, than she has since been for the charms
of mental beauty, — at whose shrine the incense of
the poet's heart was offered, and to whom he ad-
dressed some of the most touching effusions of his
lyric pen.
The votaries of love are so seldom influenced
by the dictates of reason, that they rarely weigh
the probabilities of success, ere they yield them-
selves up to the absolute dominion of passion.
Even when anticipating the miseries of disappoint-
ment, the lover seldom pauses to think of results
but welcomes the delusion for the delusion's sake.
M. G. LEWIS. 187
Experience, too often fatally purchased, alone
proves that in absence from the object lies the
secret of curbing a growing affection. Flight is
the hopeless lover's best resource ; since if he once
enter the lists with the enemy, defeat is certain.
Such, had he been wiser than the ordinary gene-
ration of lovers, should have been the conduct of
Lewis, instead of lingering with silent and hope-
less devotion near the object of his passion, like
the ill-fated flutterer whose charmed wing hovers
round the flame — at once its fascination and its
grave.
Many were the summer rambles taken by the
young poet in the woods surrounding Inverary
Castle, with her whose companionship made the
picturesque scenery still more beautiful; and it
was during the
" Stolen sweetness of those evening walks,
When pansied turf was air to winged feet,
And circling forests by ethereal touch
Enchanted, wore the livery of the sky," —
that the encounter with a poor maniac occurred,
which gave rise to the well-known ballad of
" Crazy Jane." The alarm naturally excited
in the breast of the lady, at a meeting so start-
ling— possibly exaggerated by the imagination
188
MEMOIRS OF
of Lewis — threw an air of romance over the
adventure, which, infused into the poem, gained
for it a degree of popularity scarcely yet
abated.
We subjoin the original version, copied from a
MS. in the handwriting of the author :
CRAZY JANE.
" Stay, fair maid ! On every feature,
Why are marks of dread imprest ?
Can a wretched, helpless creature
Raise such terrors in your breast ?
Do my frantic looks alarm you ?
Trust me, sweet, your fears are vain
Not for kingdoms would I harm you —
Shun not then poor Crazy Jane.
" Dost thou weep to see my anguish?
Mark me, and escape my woe :
When men flatter, sigh, and languish,
Think them false — I found them so !
For I loved, Oh ! so sincerely,
None will ever love again ;
Yet the man I prized most dearly
Broke the heart of Crazy Jane.
«< Gladly that young heart received him,
Which has never loved but one ;
He seemed true, and I believed him —
He was false, and I undone!
M. G. LEWIS. 189
Since that hour has reason never
Held her empire o'er my brain.
Henry fled ! — With him, for ever,
Fled the wits of Crazy Jane.
" Now forlorn and broken-hearted,
Still with frenzied thoughts beset,
Near the spot where last we parted,
Near the spot where first we met,
Thus 1 chant my lovelorn ditty,
While I sadly pace the plain ;
And each passer by, in pity,
Cries ' God help thee, Crazy Jane !' "
The ballad has been wedded to music by several
composers ; but the original and most popular
melody was by the celebrated Miss Abrams, who
introduced and sung it herself at fashionable par-
ties. After the usual complimentary tributes from
barrel-organs, and wandering damsels of every de-
gree of vocal ability, it crowned not only the
author's brow with laurels, but also that of many a
youthful beauty, in the shape of a fashionable hat,
called the " Crazy Jane hat." The circumstance
is worth mention, because it shows the extraor-
dinary popularity which one of the merest trifles
from Lewis's pen was then capable of obtaining.
The following wild air, sung by the peasants on
the occasion of a rustic festival held on the duke's
estate, having drawn an expression of approbation
190
MEMOIRS OF
from his fair enslaver, was written down and pre-
served by Lewis, showing how fondly he cherished
the slightest remembrance connected with his
" Love's young dream." He was frequently in the
habit of playing it in after years, when the asso-
ciations, which the spell of this simple melody
never failed to call up, were often such as to
awaken his sensibility in the highest degree.
AN AIR,
Heard by M. Gr. Lewis, while at Inverary — sung by Peasants under
his Window.
o .
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M. G. LEWIS, 191
That Lewis did make attempts to break by
absence the thraldom which held him, appears
from another effusion. But his resolution was
short-lived^ and he soon returned to the scene
of enchantment, beguiling his way thither by
fond anticipations of again beholding the goddess
of his idolatry, whose charms he celebrated under
the title of " Amoret." To the licence of a poet's
fancy, and the disappointment of a lover, must be
ascribed the " scorn " of which he speaks ; the
amiable nature of the lady at once repudiating the
idea that the expression of aught so ungentle
could have proceeded from her, or that she could
have added bitterness to those wounds which the
world's stern prudence forbade her to heal.
LINES WRITTEN ON A JOURNEY.
I hasten once more to the place,
Which saw the first dawn of my woes ;
Once more I shall gaze on the face
Which banish'd my bosom's repose.
Ah, madman ! be wise and retire,
The danger while yet you may shun ;
You will gaze, and again will admire,
Will again be despised and undone.
Ah ! well I remember the mom
Which first show'd me Amoret's eyes ;
She repaid my affection with scorn,
I only reproach'd her with sighs.
192 MEMOIRS OF
She laugh'd at a passion so wild,
She call'd it presumptuous and vain ;
And the madman rejoiced that she smiled,
Though he knew she but smiled in disdain.
For, though I could never persuade
My heart that she e'er could be mine ;
Though I knew to be loved by a maid,
In mind and in form thus divine,
Was bliss so peculiar and high,
That it never could fall to my lot ;
Yet I loved her, and never thought why ;
And hoped — though I dared not say what.
I sigh'd for that bliss night and day
Which I fear'd I could never obtain ;
I mourn'd that the maid was away,
Though I thought we should ne'er meet again.
My folly in vain I discern 'd,
In vain to forget her I strove ;
For Nature, wherever I turn'd,
Still bade me remember my love.
The trees, as they stream 'd in the air,
The rose, where the bee loved to sip,
Show'd the waving of Amoret's hair,
Show'd the coral of Amoret's lip.
And when the bright sky, or blue sea,
Others view'd with delight and surprise,
No thought was suggested to me
But the colour of Amoret's eyes.
M. G. LEWIS. 193
Ah ! me, with what tender delight
Did my doting eyes dwell on each face,
In whose features my love-quicken'd sight
Could find of her beauties a trace !
To all whom I saw her prefer,
Good- will did my bosom extend ;
And they who spoke kindly of her,
In me were secure of a friend.
At the moment she first met my view,
I felt 'twas my fate to adore ;
With each moment that over me flew,
I felt that I loved her the more.
And when I was forced to depart,
My feelings no language can tell ;
I bade her adieu in my heart,
But my lips could not murmur " farewell !"
Yet absence has proved to me kind,
And my bosom once more is at rest ;
Heal'd up is the wound of my mind,
And cold is the flame of my breast.
But again, when her beauties I view,
I feel I again shall adore ;
My wound will burst open anew,
And my flame burn as fierce as before.
Yet my danger in vain I perceive,
Though I know to my ruin I run ;
I will not my reason believe,
Which bids me the precipice shun.
VOL. I.
194 MEMOIRS OF
For if Amoret fastens my chains,
I never shall wish to be free ;
And if she is pleased with my pains,
Those pains shall be cherish'd by me.
This warm attachment became chastened in
maturer years to that sacred feeling into which un-
requited love often changes, when softened by the
power of time. From the embers of the poet's early
passion arose a lasting and rational friendship,
which found a ready echo in the bosom of her to
whom it was dedicated — a friendship which re-
mained unimpaired, until dissolved by the hand of
death. Such is the character of the following
stanzas, which he addressed .to this lady at a
later period.
STANZAS
Written, on the eve of parting, to a Friend,
From those we love compelFd to part,
And haply ne'er again to see,
What anguish rends the feeling heart !
That anguish now is felt by me.
Yet let not these fond, foolish tears
My interest in your mind decrease ;
Nor murmur when my ill-timed fears
Disturb your happy bosom's peace.
M. G. LEWIS.
Those tears from firm affection flow,
Parting from you my mind employs ;
And while it dwells on future woe,
My soul is dead to present joys.
The vain complaints which now I pour,
My reason warns me to suppress ;
I feel that I should please you more,
If parting with you grieved me less.
But, oh ! 'tis hard the mind to tune,
And hard to hide the bosom's pain ;
While thinking I must leave you soon,
And leave you, ne'er to meet again !
Or should we meet — perhaps no place
For me your heart may then allow ;
And I may seek in vain a trace
Of what so much delights me now.
Then think what bitter thoughts must rend
My bosom's swelling guest, to find
The much-loved name, but not the friend,
The well-known form, but not the mind*
In vain you call these false alarms —
In vain my heart the promise cheers ;
Ne'er shall that sacred flame that warms
Our kindred hearts be cool'd by years —
o
196 MEMOIRS OF
Your flatt'ring words my bosom touch,
But, while the prospect glads my view,
To find it false I fear so much,
I never dare to think it true f
Though sad to part, thy friendship well
The pain it now inflicts may cure ;
Time may each anxious doubt dispel,
And prove thy faith sincere and pure.
Then how my soul shall love thy truth,
While musing on life's mournful page ;
And that which forms my pain in youth
Shall be my purest bliss in age I
Lewis, for a long period, was in the habit of
passing some portion of the year at Inverary, and,
in his gayer moments, entered willingly into every
pleasure — his native wit and humour never
failing to enliven the society at the castle. The
amusement of private theatricals was then a fash-
ionable one, and in these, many an evening was
pleasantly spent ; much to the gratification of
Lewis, who had always a great passion for the
drama, in which, as we have already observed, he
considerably excelled. For one of these occasions
he wrote the following epilogue, which was
spoken by Lady Charlotte Campbell, in 1797*
M. G. LEWIS. 197
EPILOGUE TO BARBAROSSA.
Till now, all who glow'd with theatrical flame,
Love of money inspired, or else love of fame ;
But none of these motives, 'tis clearer than light,
Have produced the dramatic attempt of to-night:
No shillings for entrance were dropt at the door,
No voices, applauding, bawl "Bravo !" " Encore 1"
And our ardour for glory it surely must quench,
To think that we play to three chairs and a bench.
When Selim, the tyrant, presumed to rebuke,
All he wish'd was obtaining a smile from the Duke ;
And when the Queen said the King's cruelty shock'd her,
She hoped for some little applause from the Doctor.
But our utmost ambition was stretch'd to ifs tether,
If the Duke and the Doctor cried " Bravo !" together.
Yet the fame of our mirth confined shall not be
To a circle so small as the one I now see :
No, I'll tell all the world, in the u Times " and the " Sun,"
How much we have dared, and how much we have done ;
And inform the whole kingdom, by means of the papers,
That we've j ust had an access of tragical vapours.
In fancy already I see, with delight,
« Inverary Theatricals," full in my sight :
" Barbarossa was lately (they cannot say less)
Performed at the Duke's with the greatest success j
The scenes were well painted, the dresses were fine,
The orchestra well fill'd, and the acting — divine.
In truth, such perfection in women and men
Was ne'er seen before, nor will e'er be again ;
198 MEMOIRS OF
Captain Campbell gave Othman with strength and effect,
Mr. Trafford was graceful — Lord John was correct ;
Lord Lome's easy air, when he got in a passion,
Proved a tyrant must needs be a person of fashion ;
He seem'd much at home thro' the whole of the play, —
He died in a style which was quite degage ;
And his orders for murder, declared by their tone,
Was the same if he gave them, or let them alone.
The worst (we are sorry to say, but it true is)
Was the epilogue, written, we hear, by one Lewis ;
'Twas terrible trash, but in justice we tell,
It was thought to be spoken uncommonly well.
Indeed, Lady Charlotte, all own'd with delight,
Outdid all her former outdoings that night.
When she got her high prancing theatrical pony on,
Her voice, air, and action, how truly Sidonian !
How wisely she said she'd not marry her brother,
And, having one spouse, not just then take another.
And when, in the midst of her griefs and vexations,
'Twas needful to rap out a few execrations,
Her oaths were as truly deserving of praise,
As she had done nothing but swear all her days."
Perhaps some may think, but the fact I deny,
My own merits are rated a little too high.
But if in our play any merit is shown,
I assure you, my friends, that the whole is my own.
I made up the dresses, I painted the scenes —
For constructing the playhouse, invented machines ;
And made all the actors rehearse, which I swear,
Was without great exertion no easy affair.
For when to rehearse the fifth act I was wishing,
I was told BarbarosSa was just gone a fishing
M. G. LEWIS. 199
Out of tune, while Irene was straining her throat,
That Othman was busy in building a boat.
However, I scolded, and bustled, and storm'd,
Till the parts were all learnt and the play was perform 'd.
And now Barbarossa's heroics are o'er,
Should you chance, as is likely, to vote him a bore,—
Should you think our performance deserving no praise,
And our play the worst thing you e'er saw in your days,
As your judgments must err, and an audience is scarce,
We condemn you for penance to sit out the farce.
Under Lewis's auspices, and probably at his
suggestion, the singular passetems was adopted
of establishing a weekly paper at the castle, which
was not printed, but written by the person who
happened to be its editor ; an office undertaken by
the guests in turn. It was called " The Bugle,"
and was "published" every Saturday, on the morn-
ing of which day several copies were always laid on
the breakfast-table. The editor had a letter-box
for receiving contributions ; and was, for the time,
invested with all the usual "pomp and circum-
stance" of office. The owners of many great names
were the occasional editors and contributors to "The
Bugle ;" among whom we may mention no less a
personage than the present premier (Lord Mel-
bourne), who, like Lewis, was a frequent visiter at
Inverary Castle.
200 MEMOIRS OF
Through the kindness of one of this distin-
guished literary coterie, we are enabled to present
our readers with the following, poetical pieces,
which Lewis wrote at various times for this some-
what " exclusive " periodical : their publication
in which does not render it the less true, that they
now appear for the first time " in print."
THE CLERICAL MUSICIAN.*
A SONG.
TUNE.—" The De'il cam fiddling."
The priest came fiddling through the town,
And to dancing set the ladies,
Though fiddling in a parson's gown
A most improper trade is.
Yet he fiddled away, he fiddled away,
While merily danced the ladies ;
Oh, mon'y braw thanks to the mickle black priest
Who to dancing set the ladies !
Their hearts all jump'd with joy I swear,
When the fiddle he laid his paws on ;
But he play'd so ill that " Non temar"
Wasn't known from " Nancy Dawson."
Still he fiddled away, he fiddled away, &c.
* Most of Lewis's productions were illustrated by coloured
sketches from his truly humorous pencil.
M. G. LEWIS. 201
Of the ugliest airs this priest did know
Right well a monstrous cargo ;
He play'd whatever was presto slow,
And quick whatever was largo.
And he fiddled away, &c.
He play'd by ear, and his ear was false,
And much his hearers grumbled ;
For he strumm'd jig, minuet, reel, and valse,
And altogether he jumbled.
While he fiddled away, &c.
He practised morning, night, and noon,
But though he well intended,
He always too soon reach'd the midst of the tune,
And began where he ought to have ended.
Yet he fiddled away, &c.
But what you'll think extremely odd,
Though at music he was but a spoon, sir,
Sing Hey-diddle, at the sound of his fiddle,
The cow jump'd over the moon, sir.
And he fiddled away, he fiddled away,
While merrily danc'd the ladies.
Oh, mony braw thanks to the mickle black priest,
Who to dancing set the ladies !
MEMOIRS OF
THE TRUE HISTORY OF THE LITTLE OLD WOMAN
WHO FOUND A SILVER PENNY.
Some six years ago (or perhaps it was more),
As a little old woman was sweeping her floor,
She saw something glisten, when, lo ! on the ground,
Adzookers ! a penny of silver she found.
To market next morning she fail'd not to jig,
And there by good chafering bought a fine pig ;
For chronicles tell (and perhaps they tell true),
That pigs then were plenty, and pennies were few.
The pig it was stubborn, the pig it was strong ;
It squeak'd and it struggled the whole way along,
Till it came to a stile — then, good lack ! what a pother,
For pig wouldn't go either one way or t'other !
Sore distress'd was the dame, when a Dog came in sight ;
So says she, " Honest Tray, take the trouble to bite
This pig, who won't cross yonder stile to the right,
And I fear that I shan't reach my cottage to-night."
" I bite him ?" quoth Tray : " sure you're running your
riggs;
I'll not injure a hair of his tail, please the pigs !
And I'd have you to know too (he added with smiles),
They are only lame dogs that I help over stiles."
For a stick to avenge her, the dame now looked round ;
And soon for her purpose a stout one she found.
Which proving no green one, but rather a dry log,
Said, " Ma'am, I must tell you, that dog is a sly dog ;
M. G. LEWIS. 203
And if I should twig him in fashion so queer,
Tis, doubtless, a crab-stick he'd think me, I fear.
I've met many pigs and old women before,
And always found one of the party a bore."
Then the little old woman — my stars ! how she bounc'd !
Her nose and chin toss'd, and her petticoats flounc'd ;
When just at the moment pass'd by an old flame,
Whose acquaintance and aid she fail'd not to claim ;
And says she, " My brave spark, do light on yon stick,
Who refuses that rude mangy puppy to lick,
Who vainly I ask piggy-wiggy to bite,
Who won't cross the stile out of obstinate spite,
And I fear I shan't get to my cottage to night."
Thus Goody petition'd ; but, 'twixt me and you,
Her flame look'd and listen'd, and look'd rather blue ;
And then, too, like many a wandering spark,
He led her a dance, to be left in the dark.
The dame with vexation had dropt, but that near
A sweet singing rivulet chancing to hear,
That onwards was rambling all life and all light,
With Heaven-lit bosom all things making bright ;
Says she, " Pretty Brooklet, the courage now cool
Of yon saucy spark, just to prove him a fool."
Said the Brook, " Ma'am, excuse me, for should quarrds
muddle
My life's tranquil way, I should prove a mere puddle."
So, murmuring on in her sweet woodland strain,
The brook sought her own peaceful valley again.
MEMOIRS OF
Screams the Dame, " You're a ," but by the way,
Whatever the old woman was going to say,
For the sake of good breeding, 'twere best to forget,
As folks seldom compliment when in a pet.
However, she luckily then chanced to spy
A Bull at his meals in the meadow hard by ;
And she pray'd of the Brook he would take a good sup,
And wash down his dinner by drinking it up.
But the Bull in this instance behaved like a bear,
And bellow'd and bounc'd like a debutante player.
" Be warned — keep your distance !" he roars, " my old
Venus ;
Lest, deciding the odds, be a toss up between us !"
At length the poor Dame met a spruce looking blade,
(In fact, the young man was a butcher by trade) ;
She told her sad story of passion and pig, —
The fellow was arch, and answered in gig :
" 'Twixt you and your pig, ma'am, should I interfere,
Perhaps I might catch ' the wrong sow by the ear •" "
Our Dame was despairing, when with a new hope,
Delighted she look'd on a tough sturdy rope.
" Oh ! hang him," she cried, " yon saucy young man !"
Says the rope, " Ma'am, for you, I'll do all that I can ;
So as for the business, there'll soon be an end on't,
My yarn is well spliced, ma'am, and you may depend on't."
The dame felt the sneer; but just then so pat,
Her pathway of trouble was cross'd by a rat :
M. G. LEWIS. 205
Says the little old woman, " Good even, my friend j
Oblige me by gnawing yon shabby rope's end !"
" Take heed," he replied, " when you ask folks to gnaw,
Pray bait with a pleasanter task for their jaw.
Tis awkward," adds he of the dwelling beneath,
" To greet one by throwing rope's end in one's teeth."
Ill-timed this advice, for a hungry cat
Passing by, says the Dame, " Pussy, eat up that rat!"
" Ah, ha ! Dame, you've hit it — your triumph's complete ;
So home to your cottage, while I win the meat !"
'Twas thus spoke Grimalkin, the liquorish Cat,
Who sprang to devour the terrified Rat,
Who lost not a moment the tough Rope to gnaw,
Who hastened a noose round the Butcher to draw,
Who quickly prepar'd the proud Bull to slaughter,
Who had now no objection to swallow the Water,
Who hastened as quickly the Fire to drown,
Who hurried to burn the rough Bramble twig down,
Who belabour'd the Dog with his strongest of might,
Who snapped Piggy-wiggy — hurrah ! for his bite ;
For, 'tis said, the old Woman got safe home that night.
The Moral.
No finger stirs, in vain you kneel and sue,
The work brings benefit to none but you ;
Must, to exert themselves, your friends be won,
Make it their interest, and the work is done.
206 MEMOIRS OF
THE VILLAGE CONJURER.
COME round me, good people, your fortunes to know,
The present, the future, and past, can I show ;
In the lines of your hands I can destiny read,
For I know hocu s-pocus as well as my creed.
I am called Aristophilas Habi Baboon,
I am old as the stars, and was born in the moon ;
I shall live to the year seven thousand and five,
And mere hocus-pocus will keep me alive !
Stop, stop, pretty damsel, your hand let me see,
You shall hear if you'll husbands have, one, two, or three ;
If handsome or ugly, if brown or if fair,
By dint of my art, I can tell to a hair.
If any fair maid should be anxious to send
A few tender lines to some far-distant friend,
If touch'd by my wand, (it can scarce be believ'd)
In less than five minutes, her letter's receiv'd !
If any good dame should be anxious to learn
Why the cows have the murrain — her butter won't churn ;
Should imps in her kitchen, or bairns fiiake a rout,
Before she counts five, I can find the witch out.
M. G. LEWIS. 207
Any spinster, who somewhat advanc'd is in life,
And begins to despair to be ever a wife,
May here buy six husbands, or should she choose more,
An additional shilling will purchase a score !
But should some too simple and credulous maid,
By the oaths of her lover seduc'd and betray'd,
Endeavour by witchcraft to lighten her pain,
And try hocus-pocus to bring back her swain, —
With a fee in her hand, and a tear in her eye,
Should she come to my door, and complain with a sigh :
" False Robin is gone, arid I'm ruin'd, alack !
Oh ! dear Mr. Conjurer, make him come back !"
'Tis here, I confess the defect of my art,—
My spells have no power to cure a false heart :
The flame must for ever extinguish'd remain,
For the devil himself could not light it again !
2C8
MEMOIRS OF
THE ADIEU.
Yes ! dearest girl, the time is past
When, rural pleasures flying,
You seek the busy town, while here
I stay, in absence sighing !
But seated at some splendid show,
When all with pleasure eye you,
Oh ! then on me one thought bestow,
And wish that I were nigh you.
Till summer brings thee back, my love,
Of pomp and tumult weary,
The heavy hours will slowly move,
And all be chill and dreary.
Fair spring in vain will boast her reign,
And trees their leaves recover ;
While, far from thee, it still must be
December with thy lover.
THE BUTTERFLY.
Still free from thought, and free from sorrow,
Wave, lovely fly, thy wings in play;
Though Time may clip those wings to-morrow,
An age of bliss is thine to-day.
M. G. LEWIS. 209
Would that thy life's short, happy measure
Were mine, — but, ah ! that wish is vain ;
Still must thou sport through days of pleasure,
While I still sigh through years of pain !
SONG.
When last I saw this well-known bower,
It seem'd most fresh and fair ;
What brilliant tints adorn'd each flower !
How balmy breathed the air !
The linnet pour'd from yonder spray
Notes sweet and clear ;
And all was lovely, all was gay,
For — she was here !
But now the flowers no sweets exhale,
Lost is their vivid dye ;
And, murmuring low, each passing gale
Seems freighted with a sigh.
The warbled notes untuneful sound,
Each charm is fled ;
And all seems dark and sad around,
For — she is dead !
VOL. I.
210
MEMOIRS OF
LOVE AND TIME.
" Why dost thou shun me ?" — thus, with wrath inflamed^
One day, accosting Cupid, Time exclaim'd.
" Why must complaints for ever stun my ears,
That Love still flies the moment Time appears ?"
" Yours is the fault," said Love ; " so swift your pace,
Speed how I may, your wings still win the race :
Morn, noon, and night, some nymph or shepherd sighs,
* When Love is with us, oh I how swift Time flies !' "
During the time Lewis was engaged in this
literary trifling, he by no means neglected his
other literary avocations ; but was fast obtaining
celebrity as a dramatist, by the successive pro-
duction of a series of plays, of which we shall give
a brief detail in the succeeding chapter.
M. G. LEWIS. 211
CHAPTER VIII.
" The Castle Spectre"—" The Minister"—" Rolla"— " The Twins"
— "Adelmorn the Outlaw" — " Alfonso" -— " The Captive"-—
" The Bravo of Venice," &c. &c.
THE year following that in which " The Monk"
was published, Lewis produced his celebrated
musical drama, " The Castle Spectre." This play
was founded upon the romance of which such fre-
quent mention is made in his early letters ; and its
success with play-goers was nearly as great as that
of his previous work had been with novel-readers.
It ran about sixty nights, and continued popular,
as an acting play, up to a very recent period.
We have been informed — and it gives us pleasure
to record it — that the author's sister, Lady Lush-
ington, with the delicate tact of a correct judg-
ment, and a pure and pious mind, struck out, with
her own hand, all the passages from the play which
she imagined might be construed into offences
MEMOIRS OF
against religion, and it was not until she had
performed this kindly office, that her brother sub-
mitted it to thepublic.
The "Castle Spectre" is far from possessing
any great literary merit, and one would have
imagined, from the many extravagances in its
construction, that it would not have succeeded
on the stage. Yet so pleasing is the dialogue,
such the ingenuity of some scenes, and the interest
which the author has managed to sustain through-
out the whole, that the mind becomes almost
sufficiently satisfied and excited, to tolerate the in-
troduction of ghosts, " with white and flowing gar-
ments, spotted with blood" — " thunder-storms" —
" blazes of light," and such terrible machinery as
a prolific genius in horrors might have chosen to
create.
Sheridan, who never had a high opinion of the
drama, recommended Lewis to keep the spectre
out of the last scene ; a piece of advice which the
author peremptorily rejected ; and the applause
of the audience showed that if not correct in taste,
he was at least successful in his ideas of stage
effect. He observes,* " It had been said, that
if Mr. Sheridan had not advised me to content
* Vide Preface to " Castle Spectre."
M. G. LEWIS.
myself with a single spectre, I meant to have
exhibited a whole regiment of ghosts ;" — and after
denying that such had ever been his intention, he
proceeds to state, that " Never was any poor so ul
so ill used as Evelina's, previous to presenting herself
before the audience. The friends to whom I read
my drama, the managers to whom I presented it, and
the actors who were to perform it, all combined to
persecute my spectre, and requested me to con-
fine my ghost to the green-room. Aware that,
without her, my catastrophe would closely re-
semble that of " The Grecian Daughter," I re-
solved upon retaining her. The event justified
my obstinacy. The spectre was as well treated
before the curtain as she had been ill used behind
it ; and as she continues to make her appearance
nightly, with increased applause, I think myself
under great obligations to her and her represent-
ative/'
The terrors inspired by the spectre were not
confined to Drury Lane ; but, as the following
anecdote shows, on one occasion they even, ex-
tended considerably beyond it. Mrs. Powell, who
played Evelina — having become, from the number
of representations, heartily tired and wearied with
the character — one evening, on returning from the
theatre, walked listlessly into a drawing-room,
MEMOIRS OF
and throwing herself into a seat, exclaimed, " Oh,
this ghost ! this ghost ! Heavens ! how the ghost
torments me I"
" Ma'am I" uttered a tremulous voice, from the
other side of the table.
Mrs. Powell looked up hastily. "Sir!" she
reiterated in nearly the same tone, as she encoun-
tered the pale countenance of a very sober-looking
gentleman opposite.
" What — what was it you said, madam ?"
"Really, sir," replied the astonished actress,
" I have not the pleasure of — Why, good heavens,
what have they been about in the room ?"
"Madam I" continued the gentleman, " the
room is mine, and I will thank you to explain — "
" Yours !" screamed Mrs. Powell ; " surely, sir,
this is Number 1."
" No, indeed, madam," he replied : " this is
Number 2 ; and, really, your language is so very
extraordinary, that — "
Mrs. Powell, amidst her confusion, could scarcely
refrain from laughter. " Ten thousand pardons !"
she said. " The coachman must have mistaken
the house. I am Mrs. Powell, of Drury Lane,
and have just come from performing the * Castle
Spectre.' Fatigue and absence of mind have
made me an unconscious intruder. I lodge next
M. G. LEWIS. 215
door, and I hope you will excuse the unintentional
alarm I have occasioned you."
It is almost needless to add, that the gentleman
was much relieved by this rational explanation, and
participated in the mirth of his nocturnal visiter,
as he politely escorted her to the street-door.
" Good night," said the still laughing actress ;
" and I hope, sir, in future, I shall pay more at-
tention to number one."
The business-like, matter-of-fact rehearsals of the
play were particularly amusing to the young dra-
matist ; and on returning from them he was in the
habit of calling on his mother, to give her an ac-
count of what had been done, and how his piece
was progressing. We are indebted for the fol-
lowing anecdote to a party who happened to be
present on one of these occasions : " I was in the
theatre this morning" — said he j " they were re-
hearsing the play, and you cannot think the amuse-
ment I had. Mrs. Jordan was not there, and the
prompter, as I believe is usual in those cases, read
the part. Well, there stood little Powell with his
book — by-the-by, taking the opportunity of showing
people that he knew something of acting — so on
they went.
" ' Hem ! let me see — Oh — I have it !— Man,
216 MEMOIRS OF
man I — (my dear sir, what are you about ?) — drive
ine not mad !'
" ' Sir, I am sure I beg your pardon/ replied
the tyrant Osmond, bowing very politely.
" And then it was so irresistibly comic, to hear
that furious baron launch out, — 'Yes! though
Evelina's bleeding ghost should flit before me, and
thunder in mine ear, — (what a deuce of a noise
these carpenters are making!)'"
Soon after the favourable reception of the
" Castle Spectre," Lewis published a translation
from Schiller's " Cabale und Liebe," which he
entitled " The Minister," — the tragedy to which
allusion is made in one of the preceding letters.
It was not, however, brought upon the stage until
some years afterwards, when it was played at
Covent Garden, under the title of the " Harper's
Daughter ;" but not meeting with much success,
was soon after laid aside. In the same year (1797)
he* published another tragedy, called "Holla,"
a translation from the German of Kotzebue,
which, we believe, was never played, but gave
place to Sheridan's " Pizarro," another version
of the same tragedy, and still popular as an acting
play.
Soon afterwards, the farce which he speaks of in
M. G. LEWIS. 217
one of his letters, as having been written for
Bannister, was played for that actor's benefit, at
Drury Lane. It was called " The Twins ; or,
Is it he, or his brother?" and taken from the
French. But as it was never repeated after the
first representation, we may presume that it was
not very favourably received.
His next dramatic production, of any note from
its success on the stage, after the " Castle Spectre,"
was the comedy of the " East Indian," — so often
mentioned in his early letters, as having been
accepted by Mrs. Jordan. It was at length per-
formed for her benefit, and afterwards repeated for
Mrs. Powell's, in the latter end of the year 1799.
The following year, it was adopted by Drury Lane,
and played for a succession of nights with the
greatest applause.
This comedy, as we have already observed, was
written by Lewis, when only sixteen years of age ;
—a circumstance he mentions in his preface to
the work ; but the public, or rather a portion of
the press, seemed inclined to treat this assertion
rather as an excuse for the indifferent merit of the
play, than as one to be implicitly relied on. The
foregoing letters, however, amply corroborate the
truth of the author's statement, and clearly show
that the piece was written at the early age which
218 MEMOIRS OF
he affirmed. He appears, indeed, to have had a
great favour and affection for this juvenile dramatic
effort, and although it was not ushered into the
world until nearly eight years after it was written,
he made no further alteration in it, but merely
contented himself with observing in the prologue,
that—
"Ere sixteen years had wing'd their wanton flight,
When yet his head was young, his heart was light,
Our author plann'd these scenes ; and while he drew,
How bright each colour seem'd, each line how true !
Gods ! with what rapture every speech he spoke !
Gods ! how he chuckled as he penned each joke I
And when at length his ravish'd eyes survey
That wondrous work complete — a five-act play,
His youthful heart — how self-applauses swell !
It isn't perfect, but it's vastly well !
Since then with many a pang our bard has brought
More just decision and less partial thought ;
Kind vanity no longer blinds his sight,
His fillet falls, and lets in odious light.
Time bids the darling work its leaves expand,
Each flower parnassian withers in his hand ;
Stern judgment every latent fault detects,
And all its fancied beauties prove defects.
Yet, for she thinks some scenes possess an art
To please the fancy and to melt the heart,
Thalia bids his play to-night appear ;
Thalia called in heaven, but Jordan here.
M. G. LEWIS.
So frail his hope, so weak he thinks his cause,
Our author says he dares not ask applause :
He only begs that with indulgence new,
You'll hear him patiently, and hear him through ;
Then if his piece prove worthless, never sham it,
But damn it, gentle friends, oh, damn it ! damn it !"
As the achievement of a boy of sixteen, the
" East Indian" is certainly an extraordinary work ;
but if its value is to be rested on its merits alone
— as ought to be the case with all literary
productions — its claims to popularity are small in-
deed. The construction of the play is by no
means amiss ; the situations are generally good,
and many of the characters are tolerably drawn ;
but it abounds with absurdities, and is moreover
greatly destitute of originality. The moral is also
exceedingly questionable ; in one sense indeed it
may be said to be abominable : for it turns on the
happiness of a young lady who has eloped from
India with a married man, and is made happy by
his becoming a widower. The error consists in
adopting such a situation, and not in the
^ author's manner of treating it ; for in no other way
does the play exhibit any thing calculated to have
an immoral tendency. And even the happiness
of the heroine is carefully limited : for in the con-
MEMOIRS OF
eluding passage, Zorayda is made to exclaim,
" Ah ! my father, 'tis a cloud which must never
be removed, for' tis the gloom of self-reproach. — I
have erred and been forgiven ; but am I less
culpable ? Your indulgence has been great ; but
is my fault therefore less enormous? Oh, no,
no, no 1 The calm of innocence has for ever left
me, the courage of conscious virtue must be mine
no more. Still must the memory of errors past
torment me, and imbitter every future joy. Still
must I blush to read scorn in the world's eye, and
suspicion in my husband's ; and still must I feel this
painful truth most keenly, that she who once de-
viated from the paths of virtue, though she may
obtain the forgiveness of others, can never obtain
her own !"
A portion of the plot of the " East Indian" is
borrowed from the old novels of " Cecilia" and
" Sidney Biddulph ;" from the latter of which, a
portion of that of the " School for Scandal" is
also taken. Lewis attributes the failure of the
comedy during its latter representations, to " Mr.
Sheridan having blocked up my road, mounted on
his great tragic war-horse " Pizarro," and trampled
my humble pad-nag of a comedy under foot, with-
out the least compunction." But this is by no means
M. G. LEWIS.
a satisfactory reason for its want of ulterior success,
which must he referred to the best of all possible
causes — that it did not deserve it.
The same year he produced his first opera,
" Adelmorn, the Outlaw." It was played at
Drury Lane, but its reception was one of a very
ordinary nature. " Adelmorn," notwithstanding,
was a pretty, romantic affair ; the music, by Michael
Kelly, was sweet and appropriate ; and the per-
formers, particularly Mrs. Jordan and C. Kemble,
were by no means sparing of their exertions. But the
representation of a certain dream of the hero, where
a spirit is represented ascending, amid choiring
cherubims, procured for the ill-fated " Monk" his
usual bad luck : — the scene was considered to be
irreverent, and great offence was taken at its re-
presentation. A servant, too, who was made to
use some ill-timed jests, was very badly received.
On the next representation, however, the dream
having been withdrawn, the witty servant made
to hold his tongue, and some other change af-
fected in the catastrophe, the " Outlaw" was better
received ; but it never, to use a theatrical term,
" obtained a run."
After " Adelmorn," Lewis produced his tragedy
of " Alfonso, King of Castile. " In a post-
script to one of his letters to his mother — his
MEMOIRS OF
usual confessor on literary matters — he mentions,
" I have begun a tragedy in blank verse ; but I
stick in the third act, at a reconciliation between a
king and a princess — the two stupidest people I
ever met with"
Before " Alfonso" was brought upon the stage,
a slight misunderstanding took place between
Lewis and Sheridan, in regard to producing the
plays of the former at Drury Lane ; and he im-
mediately transferred them to Harris, the manager
of Covent Garden, who gave them a most flatter-
ing reception ; showing that the two great rival
houses acted towards each other in those days
pretty much in the same spirit as they do at pre-
sent. The following is an extract from another
letter to his mother, a short time before the piece
came out : " As to my melodrama, it is no par-
ticular secret, but still it is better not to talk more
about it than can be helped. Harris is highly
pleased with it, and means to bring it out the first
piece in the season ; probably in the month of
October. The scenes and dresses are already pre-
paring, and it is to be brought out with great
splendour. I have also given him the spectacle
which Sheridan stopped at Drury Lane for ' Ali
Baba,' and which I then took away. Harris has
accepted it with great joy, and praises it extremely.
M. G. LEWIS.
But I rather wish its appearance to be deferred till
another season."
The origin of " Alfonso" is curious enough.
" Hearing one day," says the author, " ray in-
troduction of negroes into a feudal baron's castle
(in the ' Castle Spectre') exclaimed against with
as much vehemence as if a dramatic anachronism
had been an offence undeserving of benefit of
clergy ; I said in a moment of petulance, that to
prove of how little consequence I esteemed such
errors, I would write a play upon the Gunpowder
Plot, and make Guy Faux in love with the Em-
peror Charlemagne's daughter ! By some chance
or other, this idea fastened itself upon me, and by
dint of turning it in my mind, I at length formed
the plot of « Alfonso/ "
In consequence of the numerous discrepancies
between " Adelmorn," as it was printed, and the
opera, as it was performed, Lewis resolved that
"^Alfonso " should not be subjected to similar
treatment, and it was accordingly printed
before representation. After alluding to this
play, he adds, " In writing it, I have spared
no pains — it has gone to the public not as a good
play, but as the best I can produce. Very pos-
sibly, nobody could write a worse tragedy ; but it
is a melancholy truth, that I cannot write a better."
MEMOIRS OF
i
" Alfonso" was first played at Co vent Garden
on the loth of January, 1802. The characters
were admirably sustained : the celebrated George
Frederick Cooke played the character of Orsino ;
Mrs. Litchfield that of Utillia ; Mrs. Henry
Johnstone took the part of Amelrosa / and the
author himself confessed that he could never even
wish to see his tragedy better represented. But
it was impossible for any acting, however superior,
to compensate altogether for some of Lewis's
favourite extravagances, which are conspicuous in
this piece. The catastrophe is brought about
with so much stabbing, poisoning, and such
general slaughter among his characters, that in-
stead of being able, like Mr. Puff, to indulge a
hope of their " going off kneeling," he might
reasonably have entertained doubts as to the
possibility of their going off at all ; and the humane
audience, at the conclusion of the piece, began to
evince some symptoms of disapprobation at the
murder of so many respectable individuals. But,
notwithstanding this, the spirited representation of
the characters, combined with one or two of Lewis's
favourite ruses dramatiques — such as the blowing
up of a subterranean vault, the sudden intervention
of a " signal horn," and other startling inci-
M. G. LEWIS.
dents, procured for the piece, on the whole a good
reception, and it was played with great applause
for a succession of nights.
This tragedy, like most of Lewis's other dramatic
works, has many good situations, and there
are some fine passages in its dialogue. But at
the same time, it cannot be denied that both in
the language and construction of the play, there
are numerous exhibitions of exceedingly bad taste.
The introductory soliloquy of Otillia commences
and ends in a style nearly approaching to bom-
bast, and on many occasions we are presented with
passages that strongly remind us of the language
so admirably ridiculed by Sheridan, in the inimi-
table farce to which we have just alluded. The
redeeming passages, on the other hand, are, for the
most part, beautifully poetical, abounding in the
finest pathos and imagery ; such for instance as the
following :
" Amelrosa. There's nothing lives, in air, on earth, in ocean,
But lives to love! For when the Great Unknown
Parted the elements, and out of chaos
Formed this fair world with one blest, blessing word,
That word was Love ! Angels, with golden clarions,
Prolonged in heavenly strain the heavenly sound ; —
The mountain echoes caught it ; the four winds
VOL. I. Q
226
MEMOIRS OF
Spread it, rejoicing, o'er the world of waters :
And, since that hour, in forest or by fountain,
On hill, or moor, whate'er be nature's song,
Love is her theme — Love ! universal Love !
Four years are past since first Orsino's sorrows
Struck on my startled ear ; that sound once heard,
Ne'er left my ear again — but day and night,
Whether I walked or sat, awake or sleeping,
The captive, the poor captive still was there ;
The rain seemed but his tears ; his hopeless groans
Spoke in each hollow wind, his nights of anguish
Robbed mine of rest, or if I slept, my dreams
Showed his pale wasted form, his beamless eye
Fixed on the moon, his meager hands now folded
In dull despair, now rending his few locks,
Untimely gray ; and now again in frenzy
Dreadful he shrieked ; tore with his teeth his flesh,
'Gainst his dark prison-walls dashed out his^brains,
And died despairing ! From my couch I started ;
I sunk upon my knees — I kissed this cross.
' Captive !' I cried—' I'll die, or set thee free !' "
'« Alfonso. And didst thou ? Bless thee ! — didst thou ?"
" Amelresa. Moved by my gold,
More by my prayers, most by his own heart's pity,
His gaoler yielded to release Orsino,
And spread his death's report. One night, when all
Was hushed, I sought his tower, unlocked his chains,
And bade him rise and fly ! With vacant stare,
Bewildered, wondering, doubting what he heard,
He followed to the gate. But when he viewed
M. G. LEWIS.
The sky thick sown with stars, and drank heaven's air,
And heard the nightingale, and saw the moon
Shed o'er these groves a shower of silver light,
Hope thawed his frozen heart, in livelier current
Flowed his grief- thickened blood, his proud soul melted,
And down his furrowed cheeks kind tears came stealing,
Sad, sweet, and gentle as the dews which evening
Sheds o'er expiring day. Words had he none,
But with his looks he thanked me. At my feet
He sank ; he wrung my hand — his pale lips pressed it.
He sighed— he rose — he fled. He lives ! — my father !"
" Alfonso " is, indeed, a medley of beauty and
extravagance. The play is replete with both ;
and it is hard to say which of the two forms its
prevailing character. It has, however, the unques-
tionable advantage of being open in no degree to
the charge of immorality ; and forms an exception
in that respect to many of the author's other
writings.
On this subject Lewis was peculiarly sensitive.
He had suffered much from the want of judgment
— for we do not think it was want of principle —
which he had so frequently displayed. The public
continued to look on all his productions with a
jealous eye, as regarded this particular, and there
can be no doubt that the bad repute which his
previous works had given his name, was frequently
Q 2
MEMOIRS OF
the cause of affixing charges on his subsequent
writings, which they were in many instances far
from deserving. In reference to " Alfonso," he
observed, " To the assertion that my play is stupid,
I have nothing to object ; if it be found so, even
let it so be said. But if, as was most falsely
asserted of 'Adelmorn/ any anonymous writer
should advance that my tragedy is immoral, I
expect him to prove his assertions, by quoting the
objectionable passages. This I demand as an act
of * justice ; as a matter of favour, perhaps, I might
request my censurers to speak of my play as it is,
and
' Nothing extenuate,
Nor aught set down in malice.'
But this is a request which experience forbids my
making ; knowing perfectly well that it would not
be complied with."
The following letter will show the manner in
which Lewis speaks of the success of this tragedy.
The first part relates to another matter; but as
even that has some connexion with his rising
fame as a dramatist, we have introduced the letter
entire.
M. G. LEWIS.
" Barnes, January 13, 1803.
" MY DEAR MOTHER,
" I return you Mrs. Sewell's letters and verses.
I had a letter from her myself yesterday, stating
that she meant to publish her poems by subscrip-
tion : I wish you would put down my name ; and
when the book appears, I will trouble you (if you
will let me know of its publication) to transmit
51. to her, either for my copy, or for as many
copies as will amount to that sum, whichever you
think will appear the most civil to her ; but I
particularly wish my name not to be put down for
more than one copy. I have had so much flattery
and censure for the last eight years, that I am
quite indifferent about both ; and therefore cannot
say, with truth, that I am very grateful. How-
ever, if you choose to take the sin of the falsehood
upon your own shoulders, you are welcome to say
that I am highly flattered by the verses, &c. As
to the verses, they are neither good nor very bad.
I hope she does not mean to publish them ; but if
she does, you should apprize her that she has got
the names wrong : Angelina should be Angela —
Oswald should be Orsino. If she does not cor-
rect this fault, people will suppose that she never
read the plays in question, but was determined to
praise me a tort et a travers; — "the beauteous
230 MEMOIRS OF
form" clearly belongs to the muse, not to me.
But you are quite right that the title of her poem
should be, " To, the Muse, on reading the Tra-
gedy of < Alfonso,' by M. G. Lewis." When I
read the lines, I9 too, thought that she imagined
the play to have failed ; but, in her letter, she asks
" Whether I wondered at its having succeeded ?"
I now believe that it relates to the tower ; but
this is so obscure, that every body would suppose
that the play had been damned ; which is the only
possible supposition I am anxious to avoid. In
fact, the two lines had better be left out ; for
the second is an arrant plagiarism — it having
been said of old oaks or old walls (I forget which),
that they were
" Graced by defect, and worshipped in decay ;"
which is nearly the same idea and words. But I
hope these lines will not be printed. The more
praise the more envy : and the first, in my opinion,
does not balance the second in value, and cer-
tainly does not in activity.
" ' Alfonso5 has been played with great ap-
plause ; so great, indeed, that Mr. Harris (who
was present from the rising of the curtain to its
fall) ordered « Richard the Third,' which had been
announced for the next tragedy, to be postponed,
M. G. LEWIS. 231
and ' Alfonso' to be repeated instead of it. For
what reason I know not, but Mr. Harris has
taken, all of a sudden, a fancy for every thing
that I do. I sent to ask him whether he would
let Mrs. Litchfield speak some lines which I have
written, between the play and the farce. * Any
thing that you choose to be brought forward/ said
he, < shall be produced immediately.' He has got
my afterpiece again (but which I like so little
myself, that I do not think that I shall let it
appear), and wants it lengthened into a first
piece ; for, just now, he seems to think he cannot
have enough of my writing : nay, he carried his
enthusiasm so far, that when ' Alfonso' was adver-
tised this year, contrary to all custom, he put the
author's name in the bills, as if nobody could
resist that attraction. How this happens I am
ignorant: but the fact is, that he is as full of
civility, and compliments, and fine speeches, as he
can cram. The lines which I mentioned to be
spoken by Mrs. Litchfield, are called ' The Cap-
tive,' and are to be spoken with accompaniments
of music. I believe, too, ' The Minister' will be
played for Johnstone's benefit, under the title of
' The Harper's Daughter/ But do not mention
either of the above circumstances, for particular
reasons.
MEMOIRS OF
" I do not know any thing about Mr. Sewell,
not having been in town for some time. You
quite mistook me about him ; I alluded to his
general behaviour, not to any particular circum-
stance which had occurred lately. Maria is quite
well. I dine with her to-morrow, being my
father's birthday ; for which I shall go to London.
If I can give Miss 'Parsons orders for ' Alfonso/ I
will ; but as I have no right to give them this
season, and only am upon sufferance in that re-
spect, I am obliged to restrict myself to a certain
number. Sophia is just returned to town, in good
health and spirits, but rather in the dumps at her
sister's not having yet succeeded in getting an
opera-box.
" Your affectionate son,
" M. G. LEWIS.
" Pray let Mrs. Sewell know that I answered
her letter, writing simply to Chertsey, for I burnt
her letter before I examined the particular ad-
dress."
>
In the foregoing letter he speaks of some lines
called " The Captive," to be recited by Mrs.
Litchfield. This was his celebrated monodrama
of that name, which, on its representation, pro-
M. G. LEWIS. 233
duced such an extraordinary effect upon, the
audience. In a letter to his mother a few days
before "The Captive" was performed, he gives
the following opinion of its probable fate:
44 The monodrama comes out on Tuesday. I have
not yet been at a single rehearsal. It cannot pos-
sibly succeed :" and this opinion was amply verified
by the subsequent fate of the piece. Perhaps its
effect on the house might, in some measure, be
considered as successful, although it was such as
to banish it from the stage,
Mrs. Litchfield recited the monodrama in the
most perfect manner ; and gave to the performance
all the effect of fine acting. Her character was that
of a maniac, and her imbodyment of the author's
horrible imagings, combined with the scenic effect,
and other startling appearances^ which with his
usual skill he introduced in the piece, threw a
portion of the audience — whose nerves were
unable to withstand the dreadful truth of the
language and the scene — into hysterics, and the
whole theatre into confusion and horror. To judge
from the appearance of the house, it might have
been imagined, that instead of the representation
of a maniac, one of Lewis's " gibbering ghosts "
had favoured the stage with a visit in proprid
persond. Never did Covent Garden present such
MEMOIRS OF
a picture of agitation and dismay. Ladies bathed
in tears — others fainting — and some shrieking with
terror — while such of the audience as were able to
avoid demonstrations like these, sat aghast, with
pale horror painted on their countenances. It is
said, that the very box-keepers took fright, less,
perhaps, at the occurrences on the stage than at
the state of the theatre ; and such was the general
confusion that not a few were ignorant that the
piece had really been performed throughout — a
statement to the contrary being erroneously made
in some of the papers and magazines of the day.
In the following letter Lewis acquaints his mother
with the fate of the monodrama.
" Wednesday.
" MY DEAR MOTHER,
" The papers will have already informed you
that the monodrama has failed. It proved much
too terrible for representation, and two people
went into hysterics during the performance, and
two more after the curtain dropped. It was given
out again with a mixture of applause and dis-
approbation ; but I immediately withdrew the
piece. In fact, the subject (which was merely a
picture of madness) was so uniformly distressing
to the feelings, that at last I felt my own a little
M. G. LEWIS. " C235
painful; and as to Mrs. Litchfield, she almost
fainted away. I did not expect that it would
succeed; and of course am not disappointed at
its failure. The only chance was, whether pity
would make the audience weep ; but, instead of
that, terror threw them into fits ; and, of course,
there was an end to my monodrama. I thought
you would like to hear this account from myself,
and therefore write these few lines. I hope Tun-
bridge continues to agree with you. Read ' Ro-
sella,' if you have not done so already: — I am
delighted with it.
" Your affectionate son,
" M. G. LEWIS."
As this monodrama is little known — having, we
believe, never been published by the author — we
shall here present it to our readers in its original
form, with all the stage directions, &c., as written
by Lewis himself.
236 MEMOIRS OF
THE CAPTIVE.
THE scene represents a dungeon, in which is a grated door,
guarded by strong bars and chains. In the upper part is
an open gallery, leading to the cells above.
Slow and melancholy music. The Captive is discovered in
the attitude of hopeless grief : — she is in chains ; — her eyes
are fixed, with a vacant stare, and her hands are folded.
After a pause, the Gaoler is seen passing through the upper
gallery with a lamp : he appears at the grate, and opens
the door. The noise of the bars falling rouses the Cap-
tive. She looks round eagerly ; but on seeing the Gaoler
enter, she waves her hand mournfully, and relapses into
her former stupor.
The Gaoler replenishes a jug with water, and places a loaf of
bread by her side. He then prepares to leave the dun-
geon, when the Captive seems to resolve on making an
attempt to excite his compassion : she rises from her bed
of straw, clasps his hand, and sinks at his feet. The mu-
sic ceases, and she speaks.
" Stay, gaoler, stay, and hear my woe !
She is not mad who kneels to thee ;
For what I'm now too well I know,
And what I was, and what should be.
I'll rave no more in proud despair ;
My language shall be calm, though sad ;
But yet I'll firmly, truly swear
I am not mad ! [then kissing his hand] I am not mad !
M. G. LEWIS. 237
[He offers to leave her ; she detains him, and continues, in a
tone of eager persuasion,]
A tyrant husband forged the tale
Which chains me in this dreary cell ;
My fate, unknown, my friends bewail —
Oh ! gaoler, haste, that fate to tell.
Oh ! haste, my father's heart to cheer ;
That heart, at once, 'twill grieve and glad
To know, though kept a captive here,
I am not mad ! not mad ! not mad !
[Harsh music, while the Gaoler, with a look of contempt and
disbelief, forces his hand from her grasp, and leaves her.
The bars are heard replacing.]
He smiles in scorn ! —
He turns the key !
He quits the grate ! — I knelt in vain !
Still — still, his glimmering lamp I see."
[Music expressing the light growing fainter, as the Gaoler
retires through the gallery, and the Captive watches his
departure with eager looks.]
'Tis lost ! — and all is gloom again.
[She shivers, and wraps her garment more closely round her.]
Cold ! — bitter cold ! — no warmth !— -no light !
Life ! all thy comforts once I had ;
Yet, here I'm chain'd this freezing night,
[Eagerly.] Although not mad ! no, no, no, no — not mad !
[A few bars of melancholy music, which she interrupts, by
exclaiming suddenly,]
238
MEMOIRS OF
Tis sure a dream? — some fancy vain !
[Proudly.] I—I, the child of rank and wealth !
Am I the wretch who clanks this chain,
Deprived of freedom, friends, and health ?
Oh ! while I count those blessings fled,
Which never more my hours must glad,
How aches my heart! — how burns my head ! —
[Interrupting herself hastily, and pressing her hands forcibly
against her forehead.]
But 'tis not mad !— no, 'tis not mad !
[She remains fixed in this attitude, with a look of fear, till the
music, changing, expresses that some tender, melancholy
reflection has passed her mind.]
My child !
Ah ! hast thou not forgot, by this,
Thy mother's face — thy mother's tongue ?
She'll ne'er forget your parting kiss,
[With a smile.] Nor round her neck how fast you clung ;
Nor how you sued with her to stay ;
Nor how that suit your sire forbad !
[With agony.] Nor how— [With a look of terror.]
- I'll drive such thoughts away ;
[In a hollow hurried voice.]
They'll make me mad ! They'll make me mad !
[A pause — she then proceeds with a melancholy smile,]
His rosy lips, how sweet they smiled !
His mild blue eyes how bright they shone !
M. G. LEWIS. 239
Was never born a lovelier child,
[With a sudden burst of passionate grief, approaching to
frenzy.]
And art thou now for ever gone ?
And must I never see thee more ?
My pretty, pretty, pretty lad !
[With energy.] I will be free !
[Endeavouring to force the grate.] Unbar this door !
I am not mad ! I am not mad !
[She falls, exhausted, against the grate, by the bars of which
she supports herself. She is roused from her stupor by
loud shrieks, rattling of chains, &c.]
Hark ! hark ! — What mean those yells — those cries ?
[The noise grows louder.]
His chain some furious madman breaks !
[The madman is seen to rush along the gallery with a blazing
firebrand in his hand.]
He comes I I see his glaring eyes !
[The madman appears at the grate, which he endeavours to
force, while she shrinks in an agony of terror.]
Now ! now ! my dungeon bars he shakes
Help ! help !
[Scared by her cries, the madman quits the grate.]
[The madman again appears above, is seized by his keepers,
with torches ; and after some resistance, is dragged away.]
240 MEMOIRS OF
He's gone ! —
Oh ! fearful woe,
Such screams to hear — such sights to see !
My brain ! my brain !— I know, I know
I am not mad, but soon shall be.
Yes — soon I for, lo ! yon — while I speak—
Mark yonder demon's eyeballs glare !
He sees me ! — now, with dreadful shriek,
He whirls a scorpion high in air !
Horror ! — the reptile strikes his tooth
Deep in my heart, so crush'd and sad :
Ay ! — laugh, ye fiends ! — I feel the truth !
Tis done ! 'tis done ! [With a loud shriek.]
I'm mad ! — I'm mad !
[She dashes herself in frenzy upon the ground.]
The two Brothers cross the gallery, dragging the Gaoler ; then a
servant appears with a torch, conducting the Father, who is
supported by his youngest daughter. They are followed
by servants with torches, part of whom remain in the
gallery. The Brothers appear at the grate, which they
force the Gaoler to open ; they enter, and on seeing the
Captive, one is struck with sorrow, while the other
expresses violent anger against the Gaoler, who endeavours
to excuse himself; the Father and Sister enter, and ap-
proach the Captive, offering to raise her, when she starts
up suddenly, and eyes them with a look of terror ; they
endeavour to make themselves known to her, but in vain ;
she shuns them, with fear and aversion, and taking some
straw, begins to twine it into a crown, when her eyes
M. G. LEWIS.
falling on the Gaoler, she shrieks in terror, and hides her
face ; the Gaoler is ordered to retire, and obeys ; the
Father again endeavours to awaken her attention, but in
vain. He covers his face with his handkerchief, which the
Captive draws away with a look of surprise. Their hopes are
excited, and they watch her with eagerness. She wipes
the old man's eyes with her hair, which she afterwards
touches; and finding it wet with tears, bursts into a deli-
rious laugh, resumes her crown of straw, and after working
at it eagerly for a moment, suddenly drops it, and remains
motionless with a vacant stare. The Father, &c., ex-
press their despair of her recovery — the music ceases.
? An old servant enters, leading her child, who advances with
a careless look ; but on seeing his mother, breaks from the
servant, runs to her, and clasps her hand. She looks at
him with a vacant stare, then, with an expression of exces-
sive joy, exclaims " My child !" sinks on her knees, and
clasps him to her bosom. The Father, &c., raise their
hands to heaven, in gratitude for the return of her reason,
and the curtain falls slowly to solemn music.
Mrs. Litchfield was an actress of great celebrity
at this period, and by Lewis, as well as many
others, esteemed one of the ornaments of the
British stage. Her mind was precisely of a
character fitted to receive the quick impress of his
dark imaginings, and to her excellent acting he
attributed, in a great measure, the success of many
of his dramatic productions at Covent Garden.
Besides the foregoing plays, Lewis, in 1799,
VOL. i. R
MEMOIRS' OF
published a poem called "The Love of Gain,"
imitated from the thirteenth satire of Juvenal. It
was dedicated to Mr. Fox, and although by no
means deficient in poetical merit, was never very
popular, and is now almost unknown. His friend
the Honourable William Lambe — the present Lord
Melbourne — wrote some part of this poem, and the
lines attributed to him are far from being inferior
to the rest of the work.
In 1804 he gave the public his more celebrated
" Bravo of Venice," a translation from the German,
upon which, in the following year, he framed his
melodrama of " Rugantino." This little romance
is one of the most perfect of its kind, and highly
characteristic of the exquisite contrivance, bold
colouring, and profound mystery of the German
school. It was dedicated to his friend the Earl of
Moira, and translated and altered at Inverary
Castle.
M. G. LEWIS. 243
CHAPTER IX.
Ballads and melodies.
WE have already remarked that the versification
of Lewis, though not perhaps of the highest order
in poetry, possessed peculiar smoothness and
grace. This is more exemplified in his ballads
than in any of his other metrical compositions.
Poetry, the numbers of which fall melodiously
upon the ear in reading, soon obtains a large share
of admirers ; for pleasing versification is more
readily appreciated than lofty and refined imagery,
or deep subtilties of thought. Nearly all Lewis's
verses possessed the former advantage, and they
consequently obtained a rapid and extensive
popularity when once set to music. Our author's
muse seldom soared to a very high flight, and was
therefore the less liable to those sudden " sinkings"
which Johnson pronounces to be bathos. If his effu-
244
MEMOIRS OF
sions are incapable of calling forth high admiration,
or of affording the delight we experience from
the works of greater poets, yet the simplicity of
his compositions seldom plunges us into the abyss
of commonplace. His ballads and songs can al-
ways be read with some pleasure ; but those which
are wedded to even tolerable melodies afford much
more, when moderately well performed. Indeed,
the words of most of Lewis's songs follow each
other so prettily, and the rhymes fall with such
aptitude and easiness, that his poetry is admirably
fitted for the hands of the musical composer.
The fame our hero acquired by his early ballads
soon brought him a host of applicants for others.
These chiefly consisted of the authors of operas
or dramas in which an introduced song or
two was deemed essential; so that besides writ-
ing verses for his own pieces, he very frequently
relieved the poetical distresses of his dramatic
brethren. So great was Lewis's facility in com-
position, that he has been known to throw off a
couple of stanzas while the applicant for them has
been describing of what nature they were to be.
The number which he composed must have been
immense ; for he wrote a very large portion of the
most popular ballads of his own time. Many of
these we have seen attributed to other poets, but
M. G. LEWIS. 245
have recently had the opportunity of tracing them
to Lewis's facile pen.
Nor were his talents confined to writing the words
of songs ; the author not unfrequently became a com-
poser, and many of his melodies met with very
general applause. Indeed the graceful smoothness
of Lewis's poetry does not require any evidence
of musical talent to prove the correctness of his
ear. The melodies he composed, though not the
work of a scientific musician, made up in taste and
fancy for what they may have wanted in harmonic
skill ; and they rapidly passed from ear to ear, and
from voice to voice, because they were so exactly
expressive of the words to which they were set, as
to be quickly felt and easily understood.
One principal secret of the success of Lewis's
ballads is, that they were most of them written
while his mind was under the full influence of
some circumstance to which they owed existence.
Many trifling occurrences produced such effects
upon his sensitive mind, that he frequently sought
the solace of his muse, either to subdue some pain-
ful feeling, or to record some trifling event. Thus
the sentiment he entertained for Lady Charlotte
Campbell gave rise to some of his most touching
effusions ; while the sudden encounter with the
poor maniac of Inverary was made the subject of a
246 MEMOIRS OF
ballad, the popularity of which has never been
exceeded.
Lewis always had a very high opinion of his
sister Sophia's vocal abilities, and for her he wrote
the ballad of " He loves and he rides away."
Both author and composer seem to have been
happy in hitting the powers of the young
songstress ; for to her piquant and effective manner
of singing it, the ballad owed the enthusiastic
praise of the favoured few who were privileged to
hear it — which, perhaps, gave the first impulse
to the extensive popularity the song afterwards
procured with the public.
A practical compliment to her success in " He
loves and he rides away," was once paid to Miss
Sophia Lewis, by a lady of high rank. At a large
party, the supper-table was decked with a most
elaborate specimen of the confectioner's art, which
from its size and magnificence hardly deserved to
be called a trifle. There was a castle of pound-
cake, the battlements of which were mounted with
the most harmless of guns, and adorned with a
fair damsel who was waving a white pocket-hand-
kerchief compounded of spun sugar, and who
was supposed to be shedding sweet, certainly
not bitter, tears. Then there was a courtyard,
with the recreant knight, who was in the act of
M. G. LEWIS. 247
spurring his horse over a landscape made pictu-
resque by huge rocks of comfits, precipices of bar-
ley-sugar, lakes of candy, and meadows of citron.
» It is to be regretted that we are unable to give
the name of the artist who manufactured the sweet
compliment. The fame of so talented a " Gunter"
ought certainly to have been handed down.
This ballad was several years afterwards intro-
duced on the stage by a popular vocalist, and pub-
lished by Horn the composer, certainly much im-
proved by that gentleman's judicious and tasteful
alterations. It seems, however, that the lyrist,
like many others in the world, was not pleased to
be set right, and accordingly made what is
termed " a piece of work" about it, which ended
in Mr. Horn being obliged to give an explanation
and apology for his alteration on the title-page of
the ballad.
" The Banks of Allan Water," sang in the
opera of " Rich and Poor," by that sweetest of
plaintive ballad- singers, the late Mrs. Bland, will
ever be a favourite in the concert and music-
room.
" No, my Love, no !" sang with peculiar arch-
ness by Mrs. C. Kemble, as Maria, in the farce of
" Of Agek To-morrow," and " What though fate
forbids me offer/' introduced into the drama of
248 MEMOIRS OF
" Deaf and Dumb," were from the pen of Lewis.
The words of the former, as he at first wrote them
for a duet, we find among the manuscripts placed
in our hands, and here present them in their
primitive dress.
THE SOLDIER'S DEPARTURE.
KATE. — The boatswain is calling, my heart aches with fear,
While I think of those perils which threaten my
dear !
But my heart would fear no perils, no sorrows
should I know,
If you'd let me go with you —
JACK. Oh ! no, my love, no !
JACK. — Where honour now calls me my love must not be;
To conquer or die must your Jack plough the sea :
Yet one fear, I own, alarms me : — since far away
I go,
Ah ! won't you forget me ?
KATE. Oh I no, my love, no !
KATE. — For should my Jack fall on some far distant shore,
JACK. — And when I return, should my Kate be no more,
KATE. — This heart which once I gave him,
JACK. This love which now I show,
BOTH. — Should it e'er be another's ? — Oh ! no, my love, no !
" The wind it blows cold," sung by Mrs.
Jordan in " Adelmorn," both music and words by
M. G. LEWIS. 249
Lewis, is a very graceful ballad, as is also the
" Lullaby," in the " Castle Spectre." The Greek
Girl's Song at the Fountain, presents him in the
double capacity of author and composer. The
melody is perhaps one of his happiest attempts.
THE GREEK GIRL'S SONG AT THE FOUNTAIN,
I've cross'd the steep mountain,
I've cross'd the shady dell ;
" Go, pretty maid,"
My mother said,
" Draw water from the well ;
And soon reach the fountain,
And soon return to me ;
Nor stay to greet
The youths you meet,
Whatever youths they be."
Assist me, good stranger,
Or else I shall be chid ;
Ah ! roll away
The stone, I pray,
That forms the fountain's lid.
Ah ! save me from anger, —
The stone I can't remove ;
And Venus bless
With all success,
Yourself, and her you love !
MEMOIRS OF
And now, steps of fleetness
My homeward path shall greet ;
The pitcher's weight,
Alas ! is great, —
The sand, too, burns my feet !
But soon smiles of sweetness
My troubles shall requite ;
A mother's kiss
Shall pain dismiss,
For love makes labour light.
go
2
II
1
I've cross'd the steep moun - tain, I've
i
cross'd the shady dell. " Go, pret-ty maid/' my mother said, "draw
wa-ter from the well ; And soon reach the fountain, and
1
soon re-turn to me, Nor stay to greet the youths you meet, what-
1
£
ev - er youths they be.'
M. G. LEWIS. 251
The concluding words of the following ballad
present a kind of curiosity. The author, we con-
jecture, was in a splenetic mood when he wrote
the lines. The manuscript is dated " Guildford,
1801."
BALLAD.
THE SOLDIER'S GRAVE.
" Oh ! cold is the night, and the rain it beats hard ;
Why com'st thou, fair damsel, to Guildford churchyard ?"
" Nay,-heed me not, stranger ; no terrors appal,
For chill though the rain drops, my tears faster fall."
" But why is the rose from your cheek fled away ?
And where is the soldier, so gallant and gay ?"
" Oh ! sorrow has withered health's roses so sweet,"
And the gay, gallant soldier lies dead at my feet."
" Now tell me, fair damsel, then, what shall I do,
To soothe the distress of thy bosom so true ?"
" Oh ! return in the morning, and close where you see
The grave of a soldier make there one for me."
His heart it was sad at thus hearing her rave ;
He return'd in the morning, but dug not her grave :
For his courtship soon making her sorrow discard,
Now forgot lies the soldier in Guildford churchyard.
MEMOIRS OF
Many of Lewis's nautical ballads, in point of
pathos, are not unworthy the pen of Dibdin.
There is, however, a vast difference in the effect
produced by the songs of the two authors. The
first generally loved to paint the storm and the
shipwreck, and to " sing the dangers of the sea ;"
while the spirit-stirring strains of the latter pro-
duced, it is said, a degree of enthusiasm among
seamen of all grades, that did more towards man-
ning the British fleet with gallant tars, than all
the despotic exertions of the press-gang.
WILLIAM ; OR, THE SAILOR BOY,
'Midst the shrouds the wind is sighing,
Cold and chilly falls the dew ;
Swift the moonbeams onwards flying,
Faintly tinge the waters blue.
Every sailor now is sleeping,
With his daily toil oppress'd ;
I alone consume in weeping
Hours, by nature meant for rest !
Wind, whose current briskly blowing,
Swift its course to England bends,
Would with thee I home were going
To my country and my friends !
M. G. LEWIS. 253
Tell, ah ! tell my sorrowing mother,
How with her I long to be ;
How in vain I strive to smother
What I suffer here at sea !
Still the sailors mock my anguish,
Strike me when they see my tears ;
Still are angry that I languish,
Till our vessel homeward steers.
Can I help it ? Here, to grieve me,
Fears, and taunts, and blows I find ;
There with kindness all receive me,
All are gentle, all are kind !
In my mem'ry fresh as ever
Lives the hour of parting still ;
Sore my mother grieved to sever
From her little darling Will.
All our friends in Wapping-alley
Came a last farewell to take ;
Brother Jack, and sister Sally,
Sobb'd as if their hearts would break I
Then said I, No longer sorrow
That your Will to sea is sent ;
Gone to-day — I'm back to-morrow
Ten times richer than I went.
Trees of jewels rare are growing
In the climes beyond the main ;
Soon with wealth my chest o'erflowing,
You shall see me here agai n !
MEMOIRS OF
Then I told them, with what pleasure,
When from India I came back,
Sally's lap I'd fill with treasure,
And would buy a horse for Jack.
Told them, how would I and brother
Live as gay as little kings ;
Told them how should Sal and mother
Flaunt with caps, silk gowns, and rings.
Soon these dreams of gladness left me —
Ah ! I still regret their loss ;
Soon of every joy bereft me,
My companions stern and cross !
While on shore they spoke me kindly,
Gave me grog, and laugh'd and play'd;
Swore they loved me — I too blindly
Still believed whate'er they said !
But, too late, I find their way is,
111 the young and weak to treat ;
Find a powder-monkey's pay is
Hearty kicks, and nought to eat I
Now the surly boatswain licks me —
" Curse the little sniv'ling dog !"
Now the haughty captain kicks me, —
" Here, my lads, the rascal flog !"
Each the tyrant's justice praises,
While the boatswain's sturdy arm
High the cat-o'-nine-tails raises,
And delights to work my harm !
M. G. LEWIS.
Mother ! how you'd curse the hour
When you sent your boy to sea,
Could you view the faces sour,
Smiling at the harsh decree !
How you'd grieve with eyes full streaming,
Could you hear me grace implore,
Struggling, writhing, sobbing, screaming,
While the lash is dyed with gore !
But what makes this change of weather?
Wherefore mounts the sea so high ?
Wherefore flock the clouds together ?
Gracious Heaven ! a storm is nigh.
Fearful is the sea's commotion,
How the winds the topsails tear !
How with light'ning flames the ocean !
Shield us ! what a flash was there !
Now his whistle shrilly blowing,
Hark ! the boatswain wakes the crew !
Louder still the wind is growing,
Never wilder tempest blew.
Happy sister ! happy brother !
Ye are safe on England's shore :
England ! England ! Mother ! Mother !
Must I never see ye more?
Never ! 'tis decreed I perish !
Death rolls on with yonder wave :
Farewell ye, I love and cherish—-
These dark billows are iny grave !
256
MEMOIRS OF
THE ANCIENT MARINER'S FIRESIDE.
'Twas a sun-burnt sailor, weak and old, but still whose heart
was gay ;
The fire play'd kindly on his face, and gilt his locks so gray ;
A roguish boy, his grandsire's joy, he danced upon his knee,
And rock'd him to and fro, and sang, " Yo ho ! sweet boy,
yo ye !"
My son, I've been in many a fight, and thought that death
was nigh,
But as I never lived in sin, I never fear'd to die :
And storms have roar'd, and torrents pour'd, around my bark
and me,
But Conscience slept, and so did I : " Yo ho ! sweet boy,
yo ye !"
I once was captured by the foe, and lost six pounds eleven ;
But as the poor shared half my wealth, one half was safe in
Heaven.
Come what come will, come good, come ill — then, dying, cry
like me,
" God bless the king, and native land ! Yo ho ! sweet boy,
yo ye !"
M. G. LEWIS.
257
JL-|— £
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'Twas a sun - burnt sai - lor weak and old, but
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still whose heart was gay. The fire play'd kind • ly
on his face, and gilt his locks so gray.
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ro - guish boy, his grand-sire's joy, he danc'd up - on his
h«- * -d- •
knee, And rock'd him to and fro ; and sung yo ho, sweet boy, yo
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yo, yo ho, yo ye.
THE SAILOR-BOY'S DITTY.
The crew is at rest ! but I, poor Sailor-boy,
In vain strive to slumber ; I sleep not for joy ;
For homewards I'm going, and soon shall once more
Be prestto the hearts of my friends upon shore.
Yo — ye ! yo — ye ! stormy winds are blowing ;
Waves like mountains round the ship are flowing.
VOL. I. S
£58 MEMOIRS OF
Blow on, ye winds ! flow on, ye waves !
No more from home ye tear me.
Winds blow !
Waves flow !
And back to Britain bear me !
On board the Bill-ruffian we sail'd, and we soon
Fell in with and captured a Spanish galleon.
Now, light is my bosom — of gold I have store ;
That gold shall be yours, dear friends, upon shore.
Yo — ye ! yo — ye ! stormy winds are blowing ;
Waves like mountains round the ship are flowing.
Blow on, ye winds ! flow on, ye waves J
No more from home ye tear me.
Winds blow !
Waves flow !
And back to Britain bear me !
While viewing my treasure with joy and surprise,
My playfellow, Polly, will scarce trust her eyes ;
My gold in my kind mother's apron I'll pour,
And glad the good hearts of my friends upon shore.
Yo — ye ! yo — ye ! stormy winds are blowing ;
Waves, like mountains, round the ship are flowing.
Blow on, ye winds ! flow on, ye waves !
No more from home ye tear me.
Winds blow !
Waves flow !
And back to Britain bear me !
M. G. LEWIS. 259
JACK'S COMPLAINT.
The winds of night, with hollow sound,
Across the waters sweep ;
The careless crew in sleep are bound,
While I the mid-watch keep :
And as along the deck I rove,
My burden still must be,
'Tis sad to think, that she I love
Ne'er bends one thought on me.
Though long with hope she fed my flame,
And seem'd that flame to share ;
A gayer, richer lover came,
And won th' inconstant fair.
Yet still to faithless Susan's charms
My heart shall constant be ;
Though, clasp'd within my rival's arms,
She thinks no more on me.
I felt, when on the point to go,
My breast with anguish swell ;
While she, unmoved, beheld my woe,
Nor once said " Friend, farewell !" —
But from the pain it now endures
Death soon my heart shall free ;
That heart, false girl, which still is yours,
Though you ne'er think on me.
S 2
260 MEMOIRS OF
Heav'n grant my doubts may be unjust !
But, oh ! I strangely fear ;
Your lover will betray his trust,
And cost you many a tear.
You then, perhaps, that scorn may hate
Which drove me forth to sea ;
And oft (but 'twill be then too late)
May sigh, and think on me.
THE DISABLED SEAMAN.
Aid a sailor, kind sirs, who once made it his glory,
His country to fight for, his king to defend ;
Oh ! tarry a moment to hear his sad story,
And deign, when 'tis ended, his wants to befriend.
I once had a sweetheart, her vows I shall never
Forget, when she said how it grieved her to part ;
And that, happen what might, she would love me, if never
Time ere should have alter'd the truth of my heart.
From Plymouth we sailed, the foe gave us battle,
And I was resolved, sirs, to conquer or die;
Undaunted around me I heard the balls rattle,
And lost in the contest an arm and an eye.
Yet I thought not the loss of a limb, in my duty,
To me or to Nancy could sorrow impart ;
One eye was still left me to gaze on her beauty,
And I knew what she prized in me most, was my heart.
M. G. LEWIS. 261
We fought and we conquer'd, and gain'd Plymouth harbour;
But, when Nancy beheld my unfortunate plight,
Next morning she married Fred Frizzle the barber,
And bade me no more enter into her sight.
Now lame, poor, and helpless, through famed London city
I wander, my hardships and woes to impart ;
So list to a sailor, kind masters, in pity,
Deprived of an eye, and an arm, — and a heart.
THE MARS, CAPTAIN CONNOR.
A bankrupt in trade, fortune frowning on shore,
All lost, save my spirit and honour ;
No choice being left but to handle the oar,
I've embark'd in the Mars, Captain Connor.
Yet ere the wind serves, some few words to say
To Polly, these moments I'll borrow :
For surely she'll grieve that I leave her to-day,
And must sail on the salt seas to-morrow !
Oh weep not, though Fortune her smile now denies,
Time may soften the gipsy's displeasure ;
Perhaps she may throw in my way some rich prize,
And send me back loaded with treasure.
If so lucky, oh doubt not, without more delay,
Home I'll hasten to banish your sorrow ;
So cheerly ! let's hope that our parting to-day >
Prove the eve of some happier morrow.
MEMOIRS OF
The following solo sung by Master Duruset,
in the celebrated boat-glee of " Ply the oar,
Brother," in " Venom, or the Novice of St. Mark,"
was composed by Lewis expressly for the young
vocalist ; whose talents were held in very high esti-
tion by the public and himself.
PLY THE OAR, BROTHER.
A FISHERMAN'S TRIO.
Solo, Master Duruset.
s
fi-
Hark how the neigh-hour-ing con - vent's bell
Throws o'er the wave its ves-per swell ! Sul-len it booms from
J_ --H- -*.
j:±jt
shore to shore, Blend- ing its chimes with the
dash of the oar, the dash of the oar, the
J
i
dash of the oar.
M. G. LEWIS,
263
POOR ANNE.
•*-•*—•
The heart of Anne young Hen-ry won, but love much sor-row
wrought her, for Hen - ry was a mo-narch's son, poor
Oi
3«
Anne a shep - herd's daugh-ter. He said *' A queen must
be my bride," of Anne his last leave ta-king : she
kissed his hand, but nought re-plied ; poor girl her heart was
break-ing, was break-ing, just break-ing.
264
POOR ANNE.
The heart of Anne young Henry won,
But love much sorrow wrought her!
For Henry was a monarch's son,
Poor Anne — a shepherd's daughter.
He said t( A queen must be my bride,"
Of Anne his last leave taking :
She kiss'd his hand, but nought replied,
Poor girl ! — her heart was breaking.
He who her simple heart had won,
And love and sorrow taught her ;
Would he had been a shepherd's son,
Or she some lordling's daughter.
His parting step she fondly eyed,
But not one word was spoken ;
Then down she laid her head and died :
Poor girl ! — her heart was broken.
M. G. LEWIS. 265
We might enumerate many more instances of the
fertility Lewis displayed as a lyrist and melodist,
but we have done enough to prove him alike a fa-
vourite of Euterpe and Erato. We shall, therefore,
close our chapter with the following Scotch ballad,
selected from various manuscripts in our possession,
which, we believe, will be new to the public.
JEANNIE.
A Song.
Oh lady gay ! your arts forbear,
Your charms are spread in vain ;
Oh ! lady gay, demand nae mair
What is nae mair mine ain !
My heart is only Jeannie's,
The flower of bra' Dundee ;
Right weel I love that bonnie lass,
And she as weel loves me !
In vain your jewels brightly gleam,
And canty lustre dart ;
For Jeannie's een mair brightly beam,
Mair precious is her heart ;
And mine is only Jeannie's,
The flower of bra' Dundee ;
Right weel I love that bonnie lass,
And she as weel loves me.
266 MEMOIRS OF
I will nae bear your daddy's frown,
Wha'd glint and gloom at me ;
Gin ye should wed wi' sic a clown,
Possess'd of no bawbee.
No ! I'll have nane but Jeannie,
The flower of bra' Dundee ;
Right weel I love that bonnie lass,
And she as weel loves me.
I will nae bear your brother's scorn,
Who sair would fume and fret,
Gin wi' a swain sae basely born
In wedlock's bands ye met.
So I'll hae nane but Jeannie,
The flower of bra' Dundee ;
Right weel I love that bonnie lass,
And she as weel loves me.
My Jeannie would nae grudge to leave
The wealthiest laird for me ;
And, oh ! her heart I would not grieve
For a' the sun can see ;
Then gang your gait now, Lady fair,
And come nae mair to woo ;
Nor think my Jeannie I'll forswear,
De'il take me gin I do !
M. G. LEWIS. 267
CHAPTER X.
Domestic matters — An episode — Mrs. Lewis's writings — Female
authorship — Disagreement with his father — Journey to Scot-
land— Correspondence — Reconciliation.
THE reader is already aware that Mrs. Lewis
was living apart from her husband, and that, in
an early period of this separation, her son had seen
that a reconciliation, such as she at one time de-
sired, amounted almost to an impossibility. With-
out losing any portion of his affection for her, or
exhibiting the least desire to compromise her com-
fort, he showed, with a prudence beyond his years,
that such an arrangement as she contemplated was
not only hopeless, but, even if it could be
effected, incompatible with the wellbeing of
her family ; and on that account, it was one to
which he confessed himself to be opposed. We
need not wonder at Mrs. Lewis's impatience
under this correct, although, doubtless, to her,
painful view of her true situation ; and it appears
268 MEMOIRS OF
from the uniform kindness and affection of her son,
that he treated any angry reproaches on her part,
but as the natural effects of her distress of mind ;
and, so far from these having called from him any
angry feelings in return, they seem only, by ex-
citing his pity, to have strengthened that " filial
bond" which so strongly attached him to his parent.
Never, during her whole life, was there in effect
any real estrangement between this lady and her
son ; and, whatever may have been their several
faults, these never intrude themselves on our minds,
when we contemplate that delightful harmony of
love which existed between them. His heart and
his purse were always open to his mother ; her
opinions were listened to with respect, and her
advice with reverence ; he found a solace for his
sorrows in her sympathy, and his triumphs were
brightened by her smiles. In boyhood, and even
in early youth, these feelings are less striking,
than when, as in Lewis's case, they are manifested
in those later years which are supposed to
weaken the ties of kindred, and even to chill
the fervour of the heart. In him, we find this
cherished affection growing, as it were, with his
growth, and strengthening with his strength ; and,
as will be seen from his letters up to their latest
date, he still continued to address his mother with
M. G. LEWIS. 269
all that relying love and ingenuous openness,
which so distinguished the epistles of his more
early years.
Although living in this state of estrangement
from her family circle, Mrs. Lewis was possessed
of more comforts and greater advantages than are
usually attendant upon such a position in society.
She enjoyed the affectionate intercourse of her
son, and continued, as formerly, to be the sharer
of his joys and sorrows. Her daughters also occa-
sionally visited her. Barrington, as we have an-
ticipated, was dead; but, up to his latest hour,
she had been permitted to correspond with him.
Her brothers, the Sewells, maintained a friendly
intimacy with her ; and she possessed a handsome
allowance from her husband, besides being able at
all times to command the ready assistance of
Lewis. The history of her former errors was almost
unknown, or at least fast becoming forgotten.
Moreover, as she was naturally fond of retirement
and seclusion, her situation in this respect must
have lost much of its irksomeness ; and, all things
considered, it seems to have been one which
ought rather to have been productive of gratitude
than repining. Yet such is the restless nature of
the human mind, that no combination of circum-
stances, prosperous or adverse, is able to subdue
270 MEMOIRS OF
it to contentment ; and Mrs. Lewis, about this
period, began to entertain the intention of appear-
ing before the public in the character of an
authoress.
It will be remembered that, in some of the
foregoing letters, Lewis alludes to a novel which
his mother was engaged in writing ; and it appears
from one of the following, that she had also writ-
ten a tragedy. We have had no opportunity of
forming any opinion of either of these produc-
tions ; but we are informed by a party who read
the latter, that, although it was not of a nature at
all likely to succeed if published, and but little
adapted for the stage, it nevertheless contained
passages of feeling and beauty. The history
of the intended publication will be found in
three succeeding letters, for the further elucida-
tion of which, we must first introduce a little
episode in the life of Lewis, which proves that he
was as enduring in his kindness, as he was ready
in its first bestowal.
An incident — somewhat similar to one occurring
in the " Castle Spectre" — in a previously-pub-
lished novel, by an authoress of some celebrity,
led — through the medium of a bookseller, mutually
known to the parties — to their knowledge of each
other, Ever alive to the admiration of talent,
M. G. LEWIS. 271
Lewis, whose aversion to female authorship had
not yet commenced, was no less inclined to think
well of the novelist, when he discovered the secret
spring that stimulated her mental exertions.
She had been united, in early life, to the son
of an officer of rank, whose death in India
crushed the expectations of the young couple at
the very outset of their matrimonial career. The
husband — also an officer, and who had been
educated in the lap of luxury — with a reckless-
ness that cannot be too severely reprehended,
instead of retrenching his expenses and accom-
modating his mode of life to his fallen fortunes,
continued to pursue an idle and even dissipated
course, and to mix in the highest society ; leaving
his highly-gifted, but ill-fated, partner, to struggle
with the buffets of the world as best she might,
for the support of herself and her infant children.
Highly-gifted ! to what a melancholy reflection
does that expression give rise ! Alas ! the ma-
jority of those who seem to have been born to
make others happy, have themselves been destined
to misery. What a catalogue of names, both
ancient and modern, set down in Fame's calendar,
might we not class among the wretched !
At this period the " wonder-working" author of
the day became known to this sister spirit. Having
MEMOIRS OF
himself tasted of the bitter fountain whose waters
are so unpalatable to the lip ; possessing, too, a
practical knowledge of that "hope deferred," which
is so often the attendant of mental exertion when
pursued for pecuniary means ; a bond of friend-
ship was soon formed between the parties. Some
claims on the Treasury, which the fair novelist
was led to believe she possessed, in right of
her father — who had held an appointment at St.
James's, during which time his arrears of half-pay,
as a captain of marines, had accumulated and
lain dormant — produced the following note from
Lewis, who had undertaken to use his influence
in the affair :
"7th August, 1802.
" MADAM,
" I have with much pleasure set your application
before the proper authorities, and have great hopes
that it will succeed.
" I remain, Madam,
" Your obedient servant,
"M. G.LEWIS."
A few days afterwards, the unsuccessful issue,
and total overthrow of many a high-raised expecta-
tion, was thus communicated to the disappointed
applicant :
M, G. LEWIS. 273
"llth August, 1802.
" MADAM,
" I grieve to tell you that after having obtained
an order for you to receive the money, I learn,
with real regret, that it had only one month before
been paid into the office for unclaimed monies.
" I am, Madam,
" Your obedient servant,
"M.G.LEwis."
Ere many hours, however, had passed over the
crushed hopes of the almost desponding mother,
and while the wounds of disappointment yet
rankled in all their bitterness, the following letter,
reached her humble abode.
"August 11,1802.
"DEAR MADAM,
"Your disappointment must have been severe ;
and I have been turning in my mind how I can
possibly serve you. It appears to me that, as you
have two young boys, to educate one of them, so
as to enable him to become an useful and honour-
able member of society, will best benefit you ; I
will therefore do so ; and, hereafter, I may have
interest enough to place him in the War Office.
VOL. I. T
MEMOIRS OF
" I beg you to spare all thanks. When a person
of your feelings and character accepts a kindness,
you confer, not receive an obligation.
" I am, Madam,
" Your sincere friend,
" M. G. LEWIS."
The offer so delicately made was, of course,
accepted ; and from that period the whole charge
of the education of William, the eldest boy, de-
volved upon his young patron. The extreme
nobleness of this proposal on the part of Lewis,
will appear in a brighter light, when we consider
that he himself was far from being in affluent cir-
cumstances at the time. Indeed, he often found
much difficulty in meeting the additional expenses
this kind act had entailed upon him, and he ex-
presses his deep regret on one occasion to his
mother, at being unable, on the threatened with-
drawal of his income, to pay for the boy's schooling
beyond another year. Lewis, however, who felt
the " luxury of doing good," was spared this depri-
vation, and continued to maintain and provide for
his protege, in strict accordance with his promise.
On leaving school, young William was placed
by the interest of his patron in the War Office,
M. G. LEWIS. 275
introduced to the society of his friends, and
treated in every respect with the kindness of a
younger brother ; but the youth, it would appear,
was of an untamed, self-willed spirit, and pro-
bably had formed other views for himself than those
which his kind patron had in prospect for him.
However this may be, ere many years had passed,
his untoward conduct heaped vexations and dis-
appointments on the head of his best friend. But
we forbear to anticipate events that will be re-
corded in their proper place : meanwhile we pro-
ceed with Lewis's correspondence.
" March 15.
" MY DEAR MOTHER,
" To understand the letter which I enclose, I
must inform you, that an advertisement appeared
in the newspapers some time ago, stating, that
Mrs. K * was writing a novel, in which I assisted
her. I immediately wrote to her on the subject,
stating that, in consequence, I declined ever read-
ing her future works, previous to their publication.
She assured me that neither she nor N — — had
the least idea how the paragraph came to be in-
serted, and that she was very unhappy at its having
appeared. I received the enclosed this morning,
* The lady in whose behalf Lewis had so generously interfered.
T 2
276 MEMOIRS OF
when it struck me that as you told me you were
writing a novel, and are acquainted with Mrs. Par-
sons, who knows a great many booksellers, it was pos-
sible that you had given rise to this mistake. Mrs.
Parsons may have talked about ' a lady being
employed on a novel, who could depend on having
my assistance, &c. &c. ;' and, as I recommended
Mrs. K to Bell, the booksellers may suppose
that she was the lady meant. — But this circum-
stance induces me to say without delay what I
meant to have reserved till we met, and indeed
which I meant (if possible) to have persuaded
Maria to have undertaken the task of saying to
you. I do most earnestly and urgently supplicate
you, whatever may be its merits, not to publish
your novel. It would be useless to say that it
should be published without your name. Every
thing is known in time, and it would be the book-
seller's interest to have your name known, in order
that people may read it from curiosity. He would
not fail to insert in the newspapers that ' it is
whispered, that such a novel is written by Mrs.
Lewis/ and then would follow paragraph after
paragraph, with all our family affairs ripped up,
till every one of us would be ready to go mad with
vexation. I cannot express to you in language
sufficiently strong how disagreeable and painful
M. G. LEWIS. 277
my sensations would be, were you to publish any
work of any kind, and thus hold yourself out as
an object of newspaper animadversion and im-
pertinence. I am sure every such paragraph would
be like the stab of a dagger to my father's heart.
It would do a material injury to Sophia ; and al-
though Maria has found an asylum from the world's
malevolence, her mother's turning novel-writer,
would (I am convinced) not only severely hurt
her feelings, but raise the greatest prejudice against
her in her husband's family. As for myself, I
really think I should go to the continent im-
mediately upon your taking such a step. Pray
write me a line immediately, to assure me that you
have laid aside your intention of publishing, and
that, even if you have already made a bargain for
your novel, you' will break it; for I will not
suppose that after what I have said you will refuse
my request.
" You may tell me that my opinions were not
always the same on this subject, But I was young
then, and have now seen enough of the world to
judge better of the opinions it is likely to form.
Be assured, too, the trade of authoress is not an
enviable one. In the last letter which I had from
poor Mrs. K , she said c that if she could but
procure for her children the common necessaries of
MEMOIRS OF
life by hard labour, she would prefer it to the
odious task of writing, which entailed upon its pro-
fessors so much envy, slander, and malignity."
You will probably know, by the title of the novel
mentioned in the paragraph, whether it applies to
your own.
" Your affectionate son,
" M, G. LEWIS."
" Friday, March 18, 1804.
" My DEAR MOTHER,
" I will not lose a moment in expressing to you
my sorrow at your late illness, and in thanking
you for your compliance with my request. Our
opinions, certainly on the subject of my last letter,
seem to be very different ; for I hold that a woman
has no business to be a public character, and
that in proportion as she acquires notoriety, she
loses delicacy. I always consider a female author
as a sort of half-man. But as this is a subject
upon which it is not likely we should coincide,
and as your ready acquiescence with my request
makes it unnecessary to discuss it, I shall say no
more on that head.
" I return you many thanks for your kind in-
tentions in writing the letter to " The Morning
M. G. LEWIS. 279
Herald ;" but am full as well pleased with its not
having been inserted. I had rather not be men-
tioned at all without necessity ; but otherwise the
newspapers may insert what paragraphs they
please, and I had just as soon be called Mr.
Monk Lewis as any thing else. This is a subject
of all others on which I profess the most total in-
difference. It was not merely on account of the
advertisements that I declined seeing any of Mrs.
K 's manuscripts, but into the bargain she had
just published a novel in which there was a most
flaming eulogium upon the author of "The
Monk ; " and the advertisement might have induced
people to suppose that I had written my own
praises ! Now though I have no objection to
other people's trying to make me appear wicked
or foolish, I do not choose to have it supposed
that I have made myself appear ridiculous ; and,
therefore, I immediately informed Mrs. K
that I never could give any public patronage to a
person who had published an eulogium upon me,
and that though I would continue to take care of
her child for another year, I would have nothing to
do with her writings. She wanted, too, to dedicate
to me ; but that I stopped, as I should have'done
her eulogium, had I been aware of it. I gave
Mrs. K the plan of a novel, but she did not
280
MEMOIRS OF
adopt it in the " "; at least I believe not;
for I only read the two first volumes. I gave no
poems for it, and mean to give none for any fu-
ture work of hers. The paragraphs only appeared
within these two months, and the " " was pub-
lished last May, I believe. The paragraphs, there-
fore, could not apply to that work. Her last was
called " "; the one she is now about (of
which I have not seen a line), is " " ; and
the title of the supposed novel is " The Father
and Mother."
I never before heard of your being accused of
having written " The Monk." This goes nearer
to put me out of humour with the book than all the
fury of the " Pursuits of Literature, &c." What
the world knows I care not, provided 1 do not
know it ; but I cannot remain ignorant if I find
" The Morning Post" or " The Morning Herald"
filled with offensive paragraphs, which I have read,
and see lying upon every breakfast-table. — Lady
Buckinghamshire's expression was, " that she was
related to the Sewell family ;" but this subject is
equally painful and unnecessary to discuss. Let
me hope that it will drop here, and not be re-
sumed. I am quite of your opinion when you say
that it would be better for you as a woman to
write dull sermons than ' The Monk ;' not merely
M. G, LEWIS.
on the score of delicacy, but because a dull work
will prevent its author being much talked of:
a point (in my opinion) of all others the most
desirable for a woman to attain. But surely, it
is not worth while to take the trouble of com-
posing a work, when " to avoid the dangers of
authorship your only safety, perhaps, would be in
the want of genius in its composition.* You will
equally avoid those dangers by not publishing
your work, and, at the same time, have the advan-
tage of keeping your want of genius a secret. Au
reste, I should much doubt there being a single
soul at present existing who thinks ' The Monk '
was written by any body but myself; and as I
said before, till now I never heard of such a sus-
picion. Again I thank you for your acquiescence,
and rejoice in your finding such good effects from
the air of Tunbridge.
" Your affectionate son,
" M. G. LEWIS."
The view of female authorship which Lewis has
taken in the first part of this letter is, in our opi-
nion, far from being a correct one ; and we do not
imagine it was expressed so much from his own real
notions on the subject, as to form a more accept-
able reason to his mother, for his aversion to her
MEMOIRS OF
appearing as an authoress. The true reason no
doubt was, his dread that her position in society
might be made a subject of public animadversion.
" MY DEAR MOTHER,
" I have just received your letter, and open
mine to say a few words in answer ; but I am in
haste, and shall be as brief as possible. You did
not give me the ' least pain by what you said
about the Monk ;' I meant the word accusation
to be understood in its literal sense ; and on this
point perfectly agree with you, that it would not
do credit to & female pen. So different, however,
are our opinions, and ways of seeing the same
thing, that I confess that they meet upon no
other point of your whole letter. In my opinion,
the acuteness of pleasure in this world bears no
proportion to the acuteness of pain. I requested
you to sacrifice the chance of receiving pleasurable
sensations from your work being well received by
the public, to the consideration that your publish-
ing at all would certainly give me very painful
ones, whether your work succeeded or failed.
Though you may think it unnecessary to consider
the feelings of one who (you say) has stabbed you
to the heart, you will allow that / ought to con-
M. G. LEWIS. 283
sider them, and be doubly anxious that they
should not be wounded by you more than by any
other person. I did not expect you to consider
the feelings of the Lushington family, but Maria's
interest ; which certainly is that she should be
loved and respected by her husband's relations ;
and from what I know of them, I am persuaded
she would not be thought the better of by them
for having an authoress for her mother. Observe,
at the same time, that Lady Lushington was con-
sulted before Maria visited you, and not only
approved of it, but (I believe) offered, if there was
any occasion for it, to accompany Maria herself;
an offer which Lushington thought it unnecessary
to accept. Observe, I am not positive about this
last circumstance. Of course, it is not that Lady
Lushington thinks unworthily of you in your pre-
sent character ; but, if you dashed forward as an
authoress, from her ideas I am sure that she would
be displeased ; and, being a woman of strong
passions, Maria would most probably feel the
effects of her displeasure. I have not met with
any paragraphs concerning you ; I wrote from the
fear that I might hereafter : from the pain which I
felt even at the idea, judge what I should feel at
the reality. The very paragraph which you have
MEMOIRS OF
copied out, would have been enough to have made
me miserable for a week. But I observe in it,
that the compliment of * a rational and inoffensive
life,' is annexed to a 'life of retirement' and a
' tragedy not intended for publication.' I doubt
not you will be always loved and respected by
those who live with you and are sufficiently inti-
mate to know the good qualities of your heart ;
but those who alone know you by report, can only
know that you formerly took a step in defiance of
the declared principles of society (in taking which
step, the more genius you prove yourself to pos-
sess, the less excusable will they think you), and
that now you take another very bold step for any
person, but especially for a woman, in declaring
yourself a candidate for public applause. The
reason why I should have employed Maria to
speak to you on the subject of writing, was because
I thought you would take it more kindly from her
than from me. You say that I have grown
haughty in my manner, and I hoped you would
find Maria more delicate. As it is, I fear, from
the style of your letter, that mine offended you.
I can only solemnly assure you, that it never was,
and never will be, my design to give the least
pain to your feelings when I can avoid it. Again
M. G. LEWIS. 285
I thank you for your acquiescence, and trust that
you will not withdraw it.
" Your affectionate son,
" M. G. LEWIS."
Mrs. Lewis never did withdraw her acquies-
cence ; and the matter proceeded no further.
But, scarcely had this been arranged to Lewis's
satisfaction, than he became beset with troubles
from another quarter ; and from the parent, too,
whose feelings in the preceding letters he had so
studiously endeavoured to prevent from being
violated.
Some time prior to the period here alluded to,
the elder Mr. Lewis had formed an acquaintance
and maintained an intimacy with a lady — Mrs.
R (the name we think right to suppress),
who, it was evident, exercised no small influence
over him. She was a person highly connected ;
and, whatever was the nature of the intercourse
which subsisted between the parties, it does not
seem to have been such as to have compromised
the lady in the eyes of the world, although it did
not fail to render her extremely odious to Mr.
Lewis's family, particularly to Matthew, among
whose other grounds of dislike were certain ex-
pressions which she had used against his mother.
286 MEMOIRS OF
It is truly painful to observe the melancholy situ-
ation into which this already severed family were
placed, by the intervention of this person. Wounds,
partially healed by time, were made to bleed
afresh. The daughters, especially, were plunged
into fresh inquietudes. They were now both
married — one of them very recently; — and this new
disturbance must have occasioned their mother's
position in society to be again canvassed, by the
members of the respective families to which they
were allied. The conduct of young Lewis,
throughout the whole of this trying period, does
him the highest honour ; and it will be seen that,
from his firm and right-minded resolution to avoid
" cordiality" with this person, or to permit himself,
by any construction, to be supposed to sanction
either his father's conduct or her own, he was
exposed to a series of sufferings, amounting al-
most to persecution.
Without, perhaps, approving of every expres-
sion, or even in its strictest sense, of every senti-
ment, which appears in the following letters, their
general spirit, the motives by which he seems to
have been actuated, and the course that he pur-
sued, are certainly deserving of the highest praise.
They evince an innate integrity of purpose — a
correct view of the circumstances in which he was
M. G. LEWIS. 287
placed, and of his own duty under them — a
patience under the most trying afflictions — an
unbroken resolution under every temptation ;
and there were blended throughout with a spirit of
filial reverence and affection that renders yet more
conspicuous the virtues it adorns.
" Tuesday.
" MY DEAR MOTHER,
" Surely I wrote you a few lines acknowledging
the receipt of the 51. ; at least I persuaded my-
self that I had done so. You will be sorry to hear
that all the disputes are beginning again, or rather
ending. Some time ago my father, through
Lushington, inquired whether * not out of duty,
but out of affection to him I would be on the same
terms with Mrs. R as with any other acquaint-
ance ;' previous to which he had also sent me
word ' that though he was satisfied with my be-
haviour towards himself, he should never restore
his affection to me till I had been to visit Mrs.
R .' My answer to this question was, ' that
I had never declined acknowledging her as an ac-
quaintance, when I met her ; that whenever she
came to his house it was my duty to receive her, if
he chose to order me to do so, and also to take care to
288 MEMOIRS OF
do nothing which could make his house disagreeable
to her while she was in it ; but that I could not be
on the same terms with her as with any other ac-
quaintance, because I had no other acquaintance
towards whom I had the same feelings, and of
whom I entertained the same opinion, I there-
fore declined being on any other terms than the
above-mentioned, and concluded by expressing
every thing the most kind and affectionate to-
wards himself personally.' Since this he has
treated me in the coldest manner possible. He
wrote to Sophia that he should endeavour to be-
come totally indifferent to me (which I firmly be-
lieve was a work that could cost him little trouble) ;
and when he went to Portsmouth, he did not in-
form me that he was going out of town, and made
Frederick R his compagnon de voyage,
though I should have been very glad to have ac-
companied him, and probably my aunt Whitelock
would have been more pleased to see me than the
boy. Yesterday, however, I received a note from
him, telling me that he had ceased to consider me
as part of his domestic establishment — that after
what had passed it was disagreeable to him that
I should remain an inmate of his house — and de-
siring me to leave before his return. * * *
M. G. LEWIS. 289
You see how little good has arisen from humbling
yourself to solicit Mrs. R 's interference.
* # * * *
" Your affectionate son,
" M. G. LEWIS."
It is easy to see that his father's house was now
an unhappy home to Lewis. The preference given
to Frederick R (the lady's son), and the cold
note informing him that he was no longer con-
sidered as a member of the domestic establishment,
indicate the kind of feeling manifested towards him,
and clearly show that at this period, he must have
been placed in as painful a situation as is possible
to exist, between a father and son.
But the most remarkable part of this letter is the
generous sacrifice which is recorded of his mother.
It would appear that she had " humbled herself,"
as Lewis expresses it, to solicit the interference of
the woman who exercised such an influence over
her husband's mind. Of all people in the world
this person must have been most odious in the
eyes of Mrs. Lewis ; and it is impossible to con-
ceive a more painful violation to her feelings, both
as a wife and as a woman, than she thus voluntarily
submitted to for the welfare of her son. The fact
shows how devotedly she must have returned his
VOL. i. u
290 MEMOIRS OF
affection — how perfect had been their union of
hearts — and how feeble was the glow of every other
feeling, compared to the sacred fervour of a mother's
love.
" Tuesday.
" MY DEAR MOTHER,
" Mr. Martin's cottage will not do, on account
of the 300/. required for the lease, and which it
would cost me near 900/. to raise. Otherwise it
would do very well. The cottage in Middlesex
must be too large a concern for me ; there are
seven bedrooms. I should like to know the rent
of that at Hanwell. As soon as you can get an
answer, pray send it to me. Perhaps it might do
for a year, though * the very small portion of
garden-ground' sounds as if it were not very re-
tired. I begin quite to despair of success. I shall
go to Scotland next week, and what is to become
of me when I return, I know not. However, I
can remain at Barnes till the end of the year.
During my absence, perhaps you or Mrs. Ingall
may hear of something such as I wish, and I have
no fear of your neglecting or forgetting my com-
missions. Continue to send your letters to Devon-
shire-place. Nothing that you can write to Mrs.
R at present could be of any service ; nor,
M. G. LEWIS.
until my father has actually withdrawn his pro-
tection from me, would I participate in any thing
that could possibly offend him. If you think you
can do any good, you are the best judge, nor can I
prevent your doing it ; but for my own part, I am
persuaded of the contrary. Nothing but absolute
submission to Mrs. R would be of the least
use towards making my father endure me. She
wants to separate him from me, and will succeed,
by hook or by crook. I came up to-day to dine
with Mrs. Whitelocke in Devonshire -place, and
found an order from my father, c that as Mrs.
R was to dine there, I must not offend him by
my appearance either at dinner or in the evening.'
I do not wish you to write what I mentioned to
you till I have 'actually left my father's house.
" Your affectionate son,
" M. G. LEWIS."
Although no longer a " member of his father's
domestic establishment," Matthew still occasionally
visited his house, where he was subjected to a con-
tinuation of mortifications ; and to judge from his
manner of expressing himself, he must have felt
them severely.
The intention of going to Scotland, which he
announces in this letter, he afterwards fulfilled ;
MEMOIRS OF
and accompanied his friend, the Duke of Argyle,
to Inverary Castle, from which place some of the
most amusing of his letters are dated.
" Inverary Castle, August 14th.
" MY DEAR MOTHER,
" As I know that your affection will make you
anxious to hear that I am once more in harbour, I
lose no time in announcing to you that I arrived
here this evening, without having met with any
accident, or, indeed, any inconvenience, bating
one of my old companions — the headach — which
paid me a visit two days ago, and has but just
quitted me. Nothing could succeed better than
the journey. We travelled in the Duke of Argyle's
landau, which formed a very pleasant open carriage
when it was fair, and shut up very close when it
rained ; not to mention the advantage of being able
to stand up, whenever we pleased, with as much
ease and security as if we had been walking ; which
could not be done in a phaeton ; and thus we were
never subjected to the irksomeness of remaining in
the same posture. I never travelled in a landau
before, and was quite delighted with it. We
coasted the lakes of Cumberland and Westmoreland,
which, though I had been there twice before, are
so beautiful, that I always see them with fresh
M. G. LEWIS. 293
pleasure. Then ive took the opportunity of a
fine day, to visit the falls of the river Clyde, near
Lanark ; and on Tuesday reached Ardincapel,
an estate belonging to Lord John Campbell. We
passed a night at Glasgow, where the duke went
to hear Mrs. Mountain and Mr. Bellamy, in
« Love in a Village ;' but we had travelled all
night, and I was too sleepy to accompany him. I
found afterwards, that he had himself occasionally
fallen asleep during the performance, and, as he
says, should have taken a very sound nap, had it
not been for the construction of the theatre. All
the audience part of it is described as being built
with curved backs and ceilings ; the consequence
of which is, that the slightest whisper runs audibly
round the whole house ; the letting down a seat
sounds like thunder, and if a person calls the box-
keeper to open the door — 'Box-keeper! box-keeper !
box-keeper!' is reverberated from every part of
the theatre, for the space of several minutes. In
short, they say that nothing, except the temple of
the winds, was ever known to be so noisy as this
temple of the dramatic muse, where every thing
can be heard distinctly, except the performers.
" From Ardincapel, we crossed the Clyde to
Rosencata, a seat of the Duke of Argyle's, where
he is building a most magnificent mansion, which
MEMOIRS OF
(without the furniture) will cost him 60,000/.— •
And here we heard a little anecdote, so pretty and
so much in your taste, that I would not, upon any
account, omit relating it to you : — 'About ten days
ago, one of the farm-keeper's wives was going home-
wards through the wood, when she saw a roebuck
running towards her with great speed. Thinking
that it was going to attack her with its horns, she
was considerably alarmed ; but, at the distance of
a few paces, the animal stopped and disappeared
among the bushes. The woman recovered herself,
and was proceeding on her way, when the roe-
buck appeared again, ran towards her as before,
and again retreated without doing her any harm.
On this being done a third time, the woman was
induced to follow it till it led her to the side of a
deep ditch, in which she discovered a young roe-
buck unable to extricate itself, and on the point of
being smothered in the water. The woman im-
mediately endeavoured to rescue it, during which
the other roebuck stood by quietly, and as soon as
her exertions were successful, the two animals
galloped away together.'
"Now, this is really a matter of fact, and if all
matters of fact were as pretty, I should think it
quite superfluous to read romances, and much more
to write them.
M. G. LEWIS.
" At Ardincapel we found Tom Sheridan and
General Bligh, whom the duke had engaged to
accompany him to the western (Well, upon my
honour, that is the very best ale that I ever tasted !
— for you are to know that all this is written while
I am at supper) islands, on a fishing and shooting
expedition ; but as I neither fish nor shoot, and
am always sea-sick, previous to my leaving London
I stipulated with the duke, that when he went to
the islands, I should take possession of Inverary
Castle, where, accordingly, I arrived this evening,
and would not suffer a single post to pass without
giving you some news of me, and requesting to
hear some of you in return ; but I desire that that
news may be good.
" During my journey I abstained from books
so completely, that, during the seven days that it
lasted, about ten stanzas of Ariosto formed the
utmost extent of my reading; and I fancy that
my eyes are already greatly benefited. I mean,
therefore, to read as little as possible.
* * # #
" I enclose a letter from Mrs. B. which has
been a great traveller ; for it has come five hun-
dred miles to reach me, and will go back five
hundred more to reach you ; independent of which,
296 MEMOIRS OF
it not only travelled from Felpham to London,
but General Brownrigg's head being full of the
expeditions, he made a little mistake, and forwarded
it to me at the Battu ; from whence it is but just
returned, I hope much improved by its travels.
Pray let me hear from you soon.
As soon as they can eat, the puppies are to be
sent, one to Lady C. Lamb, at Melbourne House,
and the other to George- street, for Mrs. B.
" Your affectionate son,
" M. G. LEWIS."
" Inverary Castle, August 18.
" MY DEAR MOTHER,
" Whenever I mean not to be annoyed for any
time, I always order my letters to be detained ;
the consequence of which is, that through this
fear of getting disagreeable news, yours of the
1 3th and 22d did not reach me till this day ;
when a large packet was put into my hands, of
which your epistles formed a constituent part, and
they are the first which I sit down to answer.
With regard to my father and Mrs. R— — , things
are worse than ever. I will not repeat to you the
various modes in which he showed his resentment,
M. G. LEWIS. 297
and I must say his hatred, of me ; for that he does
hate me now, I am quite convinced. I will only
mention that the ninth of July being my birthday,
he met me on the stairs, said, ' So, you are here,
sir 1' and passed on ; nor did I see him any more,
though I dined at home with nobody but Mrs.
Whitelock. But though it was my birthday, he
preferred taking an early dinner by himself, and
then going — to a cricket-match ! If you wish to
know the kind manner in which he expressed
himself about me, you will see it in the following
extract from one of his letters to Maria. ' Your
brother is still in my house, pursuing the same
steady conduct as before. His indifference as to
the pain he has occasioned me, and continues to
give,' is brutal, and must operate to convince me
that he wants not only the proper feelings of a
son, but the generosity of a man.' Would not any
body think that I had committed some great
crime ? or, at least, that I had disobeyed some
command of his ? On the contrary, I have never
disobeyed him. I am ready to do any thing but
lie. The whole extent of my offence is, that I
think ill of a woman to whom he is attached, with
whom I ought to have nothing to do, and whom I
look upon as my most bitter enemy. As to what
you said about * leaving my card,' with all my
298 MEMOIRS OF
heart. I am not only ready to do this, but any
thing else which can be included in the proposal
I have already made to him, and which fol-
lows. 'I am ready to do any thing that my
father chooses, provided it can be done consistent
with truth.9 I think you will not wish me to
make a more ample declaration. I have made it to
him through my aunt Whitelock. I have desired
Maria to make it again, accompanied with a denial
of my indifference as to his renunciation of me,
and an assurance of my having felt equal pain
with himself. I now offer you, for your own satis-
faction, to cause the same proposal to be made to
my father through your brother William. Find
out through him to what extent of friendship
towards Mrs. R my father wishes my conduct
to be carried ; then ask yourself (but remember,
you are upon your honour with me, and that you
must not make an heroic sacrifice of truth to
bring about a reconciliation) how much of what is
required you can ask your son to submit to ; and
what you say shall have much weight with me.
One thing you must bear in mind : from my own
knowledge of it, and from positive facts, I never
can entertain any other real sentiments of Mrs.
R -'s character than the most profound contempt
and aversion. I therefore am content to endure
M. G. LEWIS. 299
her ; but I never can with sincerity be cordial with
a person of whom I think so ill. I can forgive
injuries so far as never to revenge ; but I cannot,
however I may wish it, forget facts. Now weigh
all this well, then apply to your brother William,
and say to him what you may think fitting.
"A thought has just suggested itself to me,
which, if you think any good can arise from it, you
are at liberty to adopt. Let her be informed by my
uncle William (who is her friend, and therefore
from whom it will come most palatable), of the
true state of things. She hates me — that is certain :
I despise her — that is equally sure : my father
wishes us to be reconciled — and that is, iufact, quite
impossible. But if she is once positively informed
that I will never willingly be on any other terms
with her than those which exist at present, and if
she really has that regard for my father's tran-
quillity to wish to make him easy on the subject,
the business may be easy to manage. I shall
have no objection to call on her, provided she will
have the goodness to order that I shall never be
let in. Whenever she dines in D place, she
can easily let me know, and I will always dine
somewhere else. But she must, upon no account,
expect me to behave cordialty to her ; because,
with the opinion which I entertain of her, and
300 MEMOIRS OF
after the pain which she has been the means of
causing me, it is impossible that I should feel the
least cordiality towards her.
" If any compact of this nature could contribute
to my father's happiness, I am ready to enter into
it. I can reserve my sentiments to myself, but I
cannot feign those which I do not feel. Do you
wish that I should ? Talk over this business with
Wm. Sewell, and let me know the result.
" I rejoice to hear that my uncle Robert is
attentive to you. I have been very unwell of late,
my headachs having returned with increased
violence, and almost without interruption.
" Your affectionate son,
"M. G. LEWIS."
The blunt, honest manner in which Lewis speaks
of the proposed armistice between this lady and
himself, is highly amusing. It shows the down-
right sincerity with which he acted ; for had his
scruples merely regarded appearances — to have his
card exhibited in her drawing-room, would have
been just as offensive to him as to have been found
there himself. Moreover, when we bear in mind,
that by acting as he did, he incurred the risk,
through his father's displeasure, of being deprived
M. G. LEWIS. 301
of a princely inheritance, there appears not a little
magnanimity in this firm adherence to that line of
conduct which he felt it to be his duty to pursue.
" Inverary, Sept. 28, 1804.
" MY DEAR MOTHER,
" I wrote a few lines to you the other day, being
afraid from your silence that my first letter had
not reached you, and I was unwilling to have it
fall into the hands of a stranger. Your answer
reached me this morning, and I lose no time in ap-
prizing you of a mistake which you seem to me to
have made, probably from having mislaid my letter.
The first step, in my opinion, should have been to
ascertain what my father wished to be done, not
what Mrs. R would consent to do. If what
would content him proved to be no more than
leaving a card at her door, or some such trifles,
then it would be worth while to enter into a ne-
gotiation with her, in order that my obliging him
might not be misinterpreted, and that we* might
satisfy him without being ourselves compelled to
submit to society which we hate (for I am certain
she hates me as heartily as I do her ; and indeed,
when I have told my father so, he has never con-
tradicted it, but only assured me she was willing to
302 MEMOIRS OF
be reconciled). If, on the other hand, he will not
be satisfied without my being on friendly and
intimate terms with her — having a formal 're-
conciliation, and giving her my hand, with a
promise of future amity — you must be sensible that
it is impossible for me to submit to lie so grossly ;
for such conduct must be a lie, as long as I enter-
tain my present opinion of her and of her conduct.
It would therefore in this case be superfluous to
make any application to Mrs. R ; and
therefore I could wish you (before you have any
sort of intercourse with her, either through
William Sewell or any body else), to ascertain the
utmost extent of my father's demands ; and to do
this there cannot be a more proper person than
Wm. Sewell. You need not tell him what I am
determined not to do ; but desire him to ascertain
with how much compliance my father would be
satisfied, * in order that you may persuade me (if
it appears to you possible) to consent to my father's
demands.' I must, however, acknowledge to you
that I wish to ascertain this point for other rea-
sons, than from the hope of bringing about a re-
conciliation ; for since I wrote to you I have made
again an offer, through Maria, ' of doing any thing
he chooses, which is not inconsistent with truth.'
M. G. LEWIS. 303
His answer was, ' that I had lost the moment for
regaining his affection, and that now no com-
pliance of any kind would be of any use.' He has
said nearly all the same thing to Sophia, and there-
fore I have finally given up all hopes of a recon-
ciliation. But still you will oblige me much by
finding out, through Wm. Sewell, exactly what it
is that my father requires of me. I do not believe
my uncle Robert knows her ; I know that she does
not visit Mrs. Blake. You may as well look for
a white crow as an individual of our family who
does not view Mrs. R in the most con-
temptible light, or who would accept of ' her par-
tiality,' Wm. Sewell excepted; therefore I still
think, that if any thing were to be done, it would
be through him. But my father's speech to Maria
seems to me to put an end to the business. Pray
ascertain my father's demands as soon as you
can, and let me know them without delay.
" Your affectionate son,
" M. G. LEWIS."
At this time Lewis must have had his own
share of troubles. Besides the vexation of his
domestic affairs, he was continually kept before
the public, by the rancour of a great portion of
304 MEMOIRS OF
the press, by whom the name of " Monk Lewis"
was connected with all manner of impiety and
licentiousness.
The following letter is the last which he wrote
from Inverary at this period, and is merely sub-
joined, as forming a connecting link in the corre-
spondence.
" Inverary.
" MY DEAR MOTHER,
# # * *
"It is about a year and a half ago that Corri
called on me, and wanted me to write the dialogue
of the opera in question.* I thought him mad,
from his manner and conversation, and also from
the extreme absurdity of the plan which he de-
scribed to me. It appeared quite impracticable ;
but that was only one of the objections to it.
The first act (according to his account of it to
me) was to be in Holland, not China. I should
doubt much Cherry's having promised to write
the dialogue, at least upon Corri's plan ; and, even
if he has, the merits of " The Soldier's Daughter"
do not induce me to expect very good dialogue ;
nor does such of Corri's music as I have heard
* '* The Travellers ; or, Music's Fascination."
M* G. LEWIS. 305
(with the exception of Storace's song in the
" Cabinet") lead one to expect very good music.
It seems to me very unlikely that the proprietors
should have accepted an opera before it is written ;
for as to their accepting it on account of the
merits of the music, I doubt much there being
any among them very capable of judging of music
in score. Another reason I have for thinking
Corri mad, was having heard a good many anec-
dotes of him from the Buccleugh family, who
patronised him in Edinburgh, and were very
highly amused with his oddities. I rather be-
lieve he taught some of the ladies Montague.
When 1 go to Bothwell, I will try to find out what
sort of a teacher he is ; for I can say nothing as to
that. Miss Mortimer, of Covent Garden, was his
pupil, and I have heard that she complains of
him 5 but I am not certain of this, and rather
believe that her complaint regards money, not
skill.
" I must give you a caution about Miss L.
She will find the theatre a very dangerous place
for a young person. Many of the women with
whom she must associate are of the worst prin-
ciples and conduct ; and many of the men are
insolent and depraved to an excess. You ought
also to be made aware that not only Sheridan is
VOL, i. x .
306 MEMOIRS OF
the most abandoned libertine that probably ever
existed, but that Graham (though a very good-
natured, worthy man, in other respects, as far as I
know) passes for having very few scruples when
women are in the case. If, therefore, she is to
have any thing to do with the theatre, you ought
to take care of providing some elderly and dis-
creet woman, to accompany her there and protect
her. Otherwise, however good may be her own
principles, and regular her conduct, she will be
continually exposed to a thousand insults. A
theatre is, in fact, a place in which no woman of
delicacy ought to set her foot (behind the scenes,
I mean), unless protected by the presence of a
husband. I hope you will find this kind of life
answer for Miss L. ; but I fear the contrary,
much. For a man, the case is very different.
" Your affectionate son,
" M. G. LEWIS."
Immediately on his return home, we find, by the
following letter, that his persecutions were not
only renewed, but cruelly augmented.
" Tuesday.
MY DEAR MOTHER,
" I shall write a few lines to thank you for your
M. G. LEWIS. 307
very kind letter; but my spirits are too much
sunk with disappointment, and my thoughts too
much occupied with disagreeable subjects, to
permit my writing more than a few lines at present.
I meant to have communicated to you this fresh
instance of my father's paternal affection for me,
when I came to town ; for I thought there was no
need to write what was so disagreeable ; and I
knew well that you would feel no less mortification
than myself. When I left his house, he wrote to
me in the most positive terms : — ' Your income
from this moment is WOOL a year.' Could any
engagement be more express ? Yet he breaks it
without thinking it necessary to use one word of
regret for being obliged to inflict on me so severe,
and so unmerited a mortification. Nay more, I
have since written to him a most humble letter,
acquiescing, without a murmur, in his arrange-
ments ; thanking him for a hope held out of re-
storing my income at some future period ; assuring
him that I would cheerfully submit to every
privation, rather than exceed the sum which he
said it was convenient for him to allow me, and
professing for him undiminished affection. Of this
letter he has not deigned to take the slightest
notice! I have been obliged to tell poor Mrs.
K that, after this year, I cannot pay for her
XO
/•c
308 MEMOIRS OF
little boy's schooling. She has written me a very
kind answer (rather too enthusiastic, indeed) ; but
the step has given me very great pain. With re-
gard to yourself, my dear mother, many thanks for
your kind schemes, but be assured that I am only
anxious that you should be able to make your
income serve for your own expenses, as, I fear,
from the narrowness of my present prospects, it
will not be in my power to afford you assistance.
I had flattered myself with the contrary persuasion,
and this is one of my airy castles, the destruction
of which gives me the most pain and disappoint-
ment. I assure you it is a great source of satis-
faction to me to think, that, at least, you have a
comfortable house, where you are secure from
vulgar intrusion and vulgar occurrences ; and I
cannot but think it cheaper for you to have taken
your house, than to be eternally changing your
lodgings, and to be exposed to the impositions
and various disagreeables of ill-bred landladies, &c.
For my own part, I must say that I would rather
dine with you upon bread and water in Gerrard-
street, than upon the best possible dinner in a
lodging. I know it will also give you satisfaction in
your house to be told, that it is really a great
comfort to me to be certain of a place where I can
find a kind reception and sympathy for my
M. G. LEWIS. 309
vexations, whenever complete solitude becomes
insupportable to me. I can always now come
up to town, and take my dinner with you in
Gerrard- street ; which I shall do very often, pro-
vided you give me absolutely the same dinner that
was provided for yourself, though it should consist
of bread and cheese. To my other friends, I am
very frequently too melancholy, or too ill-tempered,
to have recourse. But I am sure with you that I
shall be welcome, with all my sorrows, and all my
faults. Pray let me know when you hear that my
uncle Robert is going out of town.
" Your affectionate son,
« M. G. LEWIS."
It was currently reported among Lewis's friends,
and has since been elsewhere asserted, that the re-
duction ,of income mentioned in the preceding
letter, was occasioned by the repeated assistance
which he bestowed upon his mother, this being
nearly to the amount of 5001. a year ; and that his
father observed in a note addressed to him, " As I
find you can live upon 500/. a year — the half of
what I have hitherto allowed you — I do not see
why I should furnish you with more." If this was
the case, Lewis displays both feeling and delicacy
in not mentioning the circumstance to his mother,
810 MEMOIRS OF
whom it must have inevitably pained in the
greatest degree. But we do not think that such
had really been the reason assigned, although it is
possible that his father may have alluded to the
subject when he made the reduction. However
this may have been, the letter displays a chas-
tened sorrow and calmness under a succession of
afflictions, which few perhaps of his years, in a
similar situation, would have borne with so little
repining. The turn too, which his heart always
takes towards his mother is here pleasingly exem-
plified ; nor must we forget that one of his greatest
sorrows is created by his inability to continue the
performance of a charitable action. We have
spoken in another place of the lady whose son is
here alluded to.
" Barnes, Wednesday.
" MY DEAR MOTHER,
" All that you require me to do in this business
I have done already ; but you are not aware of
what is required of me. It is not merely to alter
my conduct to Mrs. R ; but my sentiments
respecting her and her proceedings, on which that
conduct was grounded. Now a man's sentiments
are not in his own power. I cannot think that
right, which I know (or at least think I know) to
M. G. LEWIS, 311
be wrong ; and if I were to say that my sentiments
are altered, when in fact they remain the same, I
should tell a lie. It is also expected of me that I
should say (observe this and frame the answer),
the whole of my conduct has been wrong in this
business. As I shall answer it before God, I
declare that I believe my conduct in this business
has been perfectly right. Can I then make the
acknowledgment requested of me ? Would it not
be telling a most absolute and wilful falsehood?
Can you really ask me to become a liar ? for that
would be my proper appellation.
"Now hear what I have done, and you will
allow that it is not an apology to my father that is
expected of me, nor is it pride that prevents me
from effecting a reconciliation. I have given up
every point regarding conduct. I have promised
to sacrifice my own feelings so far, as to consent
to meet this odious person at my father's house,
and have engaged to meet her with a fixed deter-
mination not to say or do any thing that can pos-
sibly offend her. I have made a declaration to
my father that ' I am ready to obey him in every
thing in which I can and ought to obey him.' I
was told that some passages in my letters had
offended him. I made the humblest apology ;
assured him over and over again that they were
312
MEMOIRS OF
not meant to offend him : that since they had had
that effect I wished they had not been written,
and I begged his pardon. I have also told him
(with regard to my "owning the whole of my con-
duct to have been insulting to him and impro-
per"), that I was ready to acknowledge that if I
had either said or done any thing which appeared
to him insulting, and gave him the least pain
when I could possibly avoid it — in so far my con-
duct had been extremely improper, and that I was
extremely sorry for it, assuring him at the same
time that nothing which I had said or done was in-
tended to produce that effect. Could I say more ?
Would you really wish me to say, * I declare that I
have been entirely wrong/ when in truth I feel
that I have been entirely right ? Yefr, even this
I have professed myself ready to do ; I have told
him that it is not in my power to think myself
wrong, but that if he chooses to degrade me so
far as to insist on my telling a falsehood, and
saying that I think what I do not think, I will do
so if it will contribute to his satisfaction. Now
have the goodness to let me know what more you
would wish me in conscience to do.
" The business about Mrs. W is quite
given up. She acquiesces in the propriety of the
observation of my sister's, that it would be best to
M. G. LEWIS. 313
be introduced to them only as an acquaintance.
With regard to myself, I assure you I am quite
easy on the subject. All that I wish, is to spare
my father the unpleasant sensations which he may
hereafter feel, should he sacrifice me to the wish
of gratifying Mrs. R . I have long perceived
that he loves me no longer. Sophia, too, has just
sent me a letter of his, in which he says plainly
that he has no longer any affection for me, and
does not think (even should he be reconciled to
me) that he shall ever feel any again. I cannot,
therefore, expect much pleasure from his society,
even when I can have it without Mrs. R ;
and I suppose you will not expect me to feel very
happy in her society, when I know (and my
father has justified the speech to Sophia) that she
has said * my father was only waiting for my
mother's death, to give her the greatest proof of
his regard.' And after this, considering the light
in which she is at present looked upon, can any
one doubt that the news of your death is expected
by her with impatience, and will be received by
her with delight? And ought a son to be on
friendly terms with a person who he knows is
waiting with impatience for the death of his
mother, and who has had the imprudence to avow
that she is doing so ? If I ever am obliged to
314f MEMOIRS OF
submit to her society, certainly I shall be mise-
rable while I am in it, my father's society will
not be at all a consolation, since I know that he
has no affection for me, and firmly believe that
he had rather that my throat should be cut, than
that Frederick R should lose a joint of his
little finger. On the terms on which we shall be
together, I can never ask any of my own friends
to his table. In his resentment he has assigned
me an income less than my expenditure has been
for several years ; and of course I shall not ask
him to increase it. He has even refused to keep
saddle-horses for me (though he knows that riding
is the only exercise which I like, and which has
ever been prescribed for me as necessary for my
health), and turned away the groom, telling me
that if I chose to have them now, I must pay for
them myself. What, then, am I to gain by a
reconciliation ? Nothing, for myself; but I would
willingly spare him the painful reflections which
may hereafter come across him, should he now
turn me off so totally without cause. Pray answer
this soon ; and tell me what more you think I can
do than what I have done. Was not your letter
written in consequence of one from Maria ? I
suspect it. Observe, that no apology to Mrs.
R has been asked of me. I have never said or
M. G. LEWIS. 315
done any thing to herself; I am only charged with
treating her with coldness and distance, and I am
required to receive her with warmth and pleasure.
Is that possible ? 'Manner* is the chief thing
complained of.
" Your affectionate son,
" M. G. LEWIS."
This letter seems to have been written under
considerable excitement, and exhibits a distress of
mind approaching to wretchedness. But even
here Lewis does not lose his respect or tender
consideration for the feelings of that father who
was treating him with so much severity.
" Friday, Barnes.
" MY DEAR MOTHER,
" I must in justice lose no time in setting you
right in one particular. Mrs. R did not say
bluntly that she wished you dead, but she said
(what in my opinion is equivalent), ' that my
father was only waiting for your death to give her
the strongest proof of his regard ;' and, after this,
considering her situation, and the light in which
she is looked upon, can there be a doubt, that your
death would be the most welcome news that she
could possibly receive ? And knowing this, ought I
316 MEMOIRS OF
to seem happy to see a person whose bosom is
filled with such wishes, and to be gay and pleased
in her society ? In fact, this is the whole point ;
for I have offered to come into her society, if my
father insists upon it : v but what he wishes is, that
I should come into it voluntarily, and as if it was
of my own seeking. However, you will be pleased
to hear, that my last letter has had some effect,
and that I have had a tolerably kind answer from
my father, in which he luckily mentioned a cir-
cumstance which had displeased him, and which it
was in my power to make an apology for. He
expresses an inclination to forgive what is past, but
waits for my next letter. I have sent one as
humble and as conciliatory as I could, allowing his
right to ask whom he pleased to the house ; and
that when I met them there, I ought to do nothing
that could possibly offend his guests ; allowing
also his right to make me receive them, if he
thought proper. Observe, that all along I have
said that if he chooses to command me to stay in
Mrs. R 's society, I should obey him. As to
Mrs. R (by name), and her speech, I passed
them over in silence, as well as my sentiments of
her. He must know them, and I think she
cannot mistake them, and therefore there was no
use in repeating them. As soon as I hear from
M. G. LEWIS. 317
him again, I will inform you. If Maria did not tell
you any thing of this business, surely my uncle
William did ? What I told you was not sufficient
to have informed you of all that you knew when
you wrote to me. I cannot ' set out anew,' with
Mrs. R . I know too much of her ever to be
at my ease in her society : she has been the cause
of almost every quarrel that has happened in our
family ever since I can remember. While they
were unmarried, she made the lives of my sisters
miserable. She did all in her power to prevent
Maria's marriage. Every one of my relations, ex-
cept Win. Sewell, sees her in the same light as I
do. Many years ago my sister refused to go into
public with her; and, in consequence, the opera-
box (which before they had jointly) was divided
into alternate weeks. As to myself, she has pro-
fessed the most decided hatred against me fre-
quently ; and how then can I ' set out anew with
her ?' All this I can forgive, so far as not to
wish her any injury ; but I cannot forget it, and
thus by putting myself in her power, give her an
opportunity of injuring me.
" What you have sent me to transcribe is a
hundred times weaker than many things which I
have said. If I were to send it, instead of being
pleased, my father would call it an insult. In-
318 MEMOIRS OF
deed, he wrote me word that ' any compromise
was an insult/ Do not think me vindictive when
I say I cannot forget injuries : to forgive them is
in one's power -f but we can no more forget them
at pleasure, than we can cease to love at pleasure.
Memory is not quite so obedient as to retain all
the pleasant things because we wish to retain
them, and wipe out all the disagreeable ones the
moment we wish to lose them. As to myself, I
am so constituted, that I believe I never felt a
painful sensation which I could afterwards efface
from my memory, however strongly I may have
wished to do so. To forgive injuries means a
determination not to retaliate upon the person
who has injured us. That is in a man's power ; but
to forget them is in no man's choice ; and if it
ever happens, it must be entirely the work of
time. You know Macduff, in Shakspeare, says
(speaking of the murder of his wife and children),
' I cannot but remember such things were,
And were most dear to me !'
" I have tried 'not to associate at all with Mrs.
R ,' but that is not to be permitted. I told my
father, ' that if I had wished to insult her, I should
have sought her society instead of shunning it ;
but while I kept out of her way, it was impossible
M. G. LEWIS. 319
to offend her.' However, this had no effect.
How can I * bury every thing in oblivion respect-
ing Mrs.R ,' when I entertain such an opinion
of her character in general ? If she does at all
wish for my society, I am sure it can only be for
the purpose of tormenting and mortifying me ;
conscious that, in my father's presence, my hands
must be bound. I wish her no ill ; but I heartily
wish I may never see her again.
" Believe me, my dear Mother,
" Your affectionate son,
" M. G. LEWIS.
" You will be gratified to know that, in conse-
quence of his attention to you, I have endeavoured
to show as much as I can to your brother Robert.
When I went to Portsmouth, I sent for one of the
boys from the academy, made him dine at General
Whitelocke's, and gave him some money. I be-
lieve they were well pleased."
"Mr DEAR MOTHER,
" In reading your letter again, I find one ex-
pression which requires an observation. That Mrs.
R is my foe, and hates me, is true enough ;
but I deny that /am her foe, or any body's foe. I
think it wrong to hate any one ; but I heartily
320 MEMOIRS OF
despise Mrs. R , and would not do her any
service ; but, on the other hand, I would not do
her any injury. This is the expression which I
have used to my father : — * As Mrs. R is your
friend, I will not be her enemy ; but as she wishes
the death of my mother, I will not be her friend/
Surely that is moderate. After reading * what is
required of me by my father,' I wish you to frame
such an apology as can be at all consistent with
truth ; and, if it is possible, I will transcribe it,
and send it to him. Can you ask more ?
« M. G. LEWIS."
There is much beauty in this short letter, and it
is sufficient of itself to create the most favourable
impression of the character of the writer. Lewis
was, at this time, a young man flattered and
courted in the world, principally on account of his
qualities of mind; and yet in this letter he manifests
all the relying simplicity of a child. He boasts no
mental superiority over his mother, nor does he
arrogate to himself any superior knowledge of
mankind, but unhesitatingly places his dearest
interests in her hands.
M. G. LEWIS. 321
« Sunday, February 24th.
" MY DEAR MOTHER,
" As to there ever being any real harmony be-
tween my father and inyself, you know, I look upon
that as being quite out of the question, because
I am convinced that he has not the least affection
for me. As he is conscious (he told Mrs. Blake
so) that this dissension is detrimental to Mrs.
R , perhaps, for her sake, he may choose to be
on apparently good terms with me ; but he will not
for mine, be assured. I premise this in order that
you may understand that my proceedings are not
grounded on the vain hope of recovering his affec-
tion. In the first place, I must say that I agree
perfectly with you in e^7ery word of your last letter,
respecting my father's note, and shall act according
to it, if he will permit me } but I shall not be sur-
prised if \\Q first obtains as much for Mrs. R •
from me as he can ; endeavours to ma keit appear
as if I was reconciled to her, in order that she may
be no longer accused of being the cause of his
anger ; and, then, by demanding that I should
profess my principles to have been wrong (which,
thinking them right, I cannot do without telling a
lie), to make that refusal the pretence of his con-
tinued displeasure, and thus have an excuse for
VOL. I. Y
MEMOIRS OF
saying that Mrs. R - has nothing to do with
the quarrel.
" Pray keep this letter, in order that, if this
scheme should be put into action, I may prove that
I previously protested against it. Only observe
whether I do not receive a declaration from my
father, 'that whenever I come to such a proper
sense of the respect that is due to him, as to allow
myself to have been wrong, and to repent of the
conduct which has displeased him, as well as to
assure him that it never shall be repeated, he will
then forgive me and receive me as his son ; but not
till then.9 This I shall not be able to do ; and then
Mrs. R -- will swear that she is not the cause of
quarrel ; for that I have called upon her, and every
thing is made up between us. Now you are to
know, that upon receiving my father's note, I was
in doubt whether I should call in Baker-street or
not ; however, Mrs. Blake pressed me so seriously,
that I went and left my card last Sunday. I then
wrote to my father that I had called. I assured
him of my undiminished affection and respect. I
told him I was very sorry if I had caused him any
affliction, not only during the last twelvemonth,
but during the whole course of my life ; but I
denied ever having been the voluntary cause of
affliction to him even for a moment. I finished
M. G. LEWIS. 323
by saying, that if there was any thing else I could
do to gratify him, I should consider his telling me
what I was to do as laying an obligation on myself.
To this he has not condescended to answer a line
himself; but instead of doing that, or sending me
word through Mrs. Blake (as I think he ought to
have done), yesterday came a letter from Lush-
ington, saying, ' He was authorized to tell me it
was my father's wish that I should call on Mrs.
R , ask for and see her if she was at home, and
that no explanation would be expected. In answer
to this I have sent my father word, * that a wish so
expressed was the same as a command, and I
should obey.9 You know to call upon her by my
father's desire, without any wish expressed of my
own, or any apology for having cut her for three
long years, is no breach of sincerity ; and I have
said, for the last eight months 'that I was ready
to do any thing that was not inconsistent with
sincerity.' Besides this you must know (but do
not mention this to any human being} — to put the
thing past doubt, before I left my card, I wrote to
her and told her, in respectful, but positive terms,
that I should call on her merely because my father
wished it; that when I last met her in Devon-
shire place, I did not mean to be rude to her ; but I
Y 2
MEMOIRS OF
certainly did mean to be cold and distant ;' that ' I
knew she hated me and that she had told my sister
so;' that 'the speech (which she owned having
made), comprised in it a wish for my mother's
death ; and that her making it had placed a barrier
between her and the son of that mother ;' that ' she
was the cause of the existing dissensions ;' that f I
was not her enemy, but neither was I her friend ;'
and that ' as she had sent me word by W. Sewell
that she was ready to do any thing I would point
out, I begged her to try to persuade my father that
it would be better for her and me never to meet
again.' All this was said in the most civil manner
possible, but the devil, is in it if it was not plain
speaking ; and after reading it I wonder how she
can submit to receive me. But this is her aifair
and my father's. I shall call upon her the first
time I go to town.
" Lushington's letter (whether intentionally or
not) was exactly calculated to make me refuse to
do what was desired of me. He talked of my
' having gained a great victory over myself;' that
* 1 had only to make more struggles ;' that ' I ought
not to mind humiliating myself before Mrs. R
(if it was an humiliation) ; that it was a sacrifice o*
feeling, not of principle,' &c. &c. I have requested
M. G. LEWIS.
my father in future not to convey his orders
through Mr. Lushington. I send you a letter from
Mrs. G. Sewell, as it contains many things about
you.
" Your affectionate son,
." M. G. LEWIS."
Here is a continued and sturdy adherence to
the principles of conduct originally adopted ; and,
if this letter does not place Lewis in a more
amiable point of view as a son, it is, at least, highly
creditable to him as a man. It also clearly shows
the perfect superiority of the position he main-
tained, to that assumed by the party with whom he
was at variance.
It is a singular fact, that matters afterwards
turned out exactly as he predicted in the fore-
going letter.
" Barnes, Wednesday.
" MY DEAR MOTHER, "
"The enclosed is a copy of a letter from my
father to me, written upon my informing him that
Lushington had declared himself " authorized to
say that my father wished me to call on Mrs.
R and see her, if she was at home." Upon
receiving this answer, I considered things to be
326
MEMOIRS OF
worse than ever, and quite gave up the point in
despair. But, in order that my father should no
longer have it in his power to assert * that I had
insulted a woman in his house/ I determined to
address to her, what I had said to him repeatedly :
' that I had not intended to treat her with rudeness
in Devonshire-place, and that, if my treatment had
worn that appearance, I was' very sorry for it.' I
added that, 'If we should ever be placed in a si-
milar situation, Ia would studiously endeavour to
convince her that it had not been my intention to
insult her/ You are to observe that I had already
written her word, * that I had not meant my manner
to be rude, though I did mean it to be cold and
distant.' This letter I submitted to my uncle
Robert's opinion, and he very kindly consented to
show it to my father; and ask him whether he
thought such an apology sufficient for that par-
ticular occasion. He acknowledged it to be so, but
asked what security Mrs. R had for my not
behaving rudely to her in a third place ? To this
my uncle answered, ' that it was not my intention
to treat her with incivility meet her where I
would.' But he gave him not the slightest reason
to suppose that I would show her the least civility
or attention. On the contrary, he said it was not
my intention to visit her. This interview finished
M. G. LEWIS.
by my father's saying, ' that he should not forbid
my writing to him.'
" Accordingly, after sending this letter to Mrs.
R (every syllable of which by the by she had
already read in my letter to her, though perhaps
my father did not know it, as he did not desire her
to show him my letter), I wrote to him as kindly
as I could, saying, that my uncle assured me
that the letter which had been communicated
to him, had given him some degree of pleasure, and
that I hoped to obtain similar assurances on future
occasions ; that ' nothing had prevented my seeking
his society since my return from Scotland, except
thinking that my presence would be disagreeable
to him ; ' and that the slightest intimation ' that my
visits would no longer produce such an effect,
would make me renew them. Mrs. was not
mentioned, nor a syllable relating to their disputes.
Half an hour ago I received a very gracious letter
from him, in which he says, that he is satisfied with
what I said, and with my manner in saying it ;
that he relinquishes all displeasure at the past
(not forgives, observe), in hopes that in future he
shall not experience similar displeasure. He even
apologizes for not offering me to live in his house
again ; hoping that I will not consider it as unkind,
but that he acts from motives totally unconnected
328 MEMOIRS OF
with the subject of our disagreement. He does
not mention one word about * change of principles,
change of sentiments, nor of the claims which per-
sons dear to him have upon my friendship.' On
the contrary, he says that he only expects kind
and respectful attention from me, and that he as
little wishes for servility on my part as systematic
opposition. There is a contrast for you, with the
note which I enclose ! Even to my uncle Robert
he allowed that he insisted on rny changing my sen-
timents. Now, not a word is said on the subject.
He finishes by telling me that I shall be welcome if
I will meet Sophia in Devonshire -place, on Friday,
and of course I mean to go. Unfortunately I am
persuaded that this reconciliation is only apparent,
and that every spark of real affection for me is ex-
tinguished in his bosom. However, I shall en-
deavour to make the best of it. As I knew the
pleasure which this news would give you, I lose no
time in conveying it to you. Mr. Lushington is
now Mrs. R 's professed supporter. Not con-
tented with asking her to his own house, he came
to Sheddon the other day, to persuade him to
suffer Sophia to meet Mrs. R— - at dinner in Bed-
ford-square, where he had kindly assembled a
family party to meet her. In short he has been
currying favour with my father as much as possible,
M. G. LEWIS. 329
and trying to make his treatment of Mrs. R a
glaring contrast to mine and Sheddon's, who will
not suffer Sophia to accept Mrs. R- — 's invitations.
"Your -affectionate son,
" M. G. LEWIS.
" Pray return the enclosed note. Nothing can
be kinder than Mrs. Blake and my uncle Robert
have been on this occasion, and it is entirely owing
to them that matters are adjusted."
Thus we see that Lewis, by a steady adherence
to that line of conduct which he rightly judged to
be the only one that a regard to his own and his
mother's honour permitted him to pursue, at length
gained the victory ; and although he was correct
in believing that the reconciliation which took
place was only a temporary one, it was still a
triumph ; and being in no small degree the triumph
of virtue, it must have afforded, not only Matthew,
but his mother, no small satisfaction.
It is impossible to withhold our admiration of the
manner in which Lewis acted throughout the
whole of these proceedings. From the first out-
breaking of the disagreement between his father
and himself, he seems to have clearly seen the
only course which it was proper for him to pursue j
MEMOIRS OF
and, notwithstanding an accumulation of vexatious
consequences to himself, that course he steadily
maintained. In his most imbittered moments he
never uses a word against his father which, as a
son, he has cause to blush for ; is never betrayed
into disrespect in sentiment or expression ; and
the unhappy influence of the person who is the
cause of all his sufferings, is ever viewed apart
from the parent over whom it was exercised. The
bursts of affection for his mother which his afflic-
tions called forth — his reliance on her opinion —
his dread lest his own sentiments should be mis-
taken, or the expressions of his adversaries mis-
represented— the evident purity of his intentions —
his studied regard for the feelings of others, and
the temperate, though firm manner, in which
he acted throughout ; all these points place his
character in the fairest light ; and, whatever may
have been thererors of his judgment in other mat-
ters, here at least, it is pleasing to pause, and
taking a retrospect of his conduct, to find, that so
far from being depraved in principle or in feeling,
he was eminently endowed with qualities of heart
and character fitted to adorn society and add a
lustre to genius.
M. G. LEWIS. 331
CHAPTER XI.
Cottage at Barnes — Fete champetre — Character of Lewis's friends
— Monody on the Death of Sir John Moore — Duke of Clarence
— Princess of Wales — Affair of honour.
THE cottage at Barnes, from which many of the
foregoing and succeeding letters are dated, was a
pretty romantic retreat, where Lewis spent the
greater part of his time, and which, notwithstand-
ing the intention he so frequently expresses of
leaving, he afterwards greatly embellished and
improved, and continued to retain possession
of until his death. It was here that the greater
portion of his works were written ; and even when
he came tinto possession of a large fortune, on his
father's death, he still continued to find the same
pleasure in the retirement of this rural abode,
332 MEMOIRS OF
which he had done in his earlier years ; preferring,
with a taste worthy of genius, its quiet seclusion
to the pomp and parade of more splendid esta-
blishments, which a handsome income placed at
his command. He spared no pains or expense in
rendering it suited for a poet's home ; and it was
adorned in a style in every way indicative of its
sensitive occupant.
His little drawing-room was beautifully orna-
mented, and contained many paintings from the
first masters, as well as several highly-finished
sketches taken from his own works. Over the
mantelpiece hung the small miniature portrait of a
lady — a scion of the house of Argyle — which, on
account of the homage he had seemed to pay
it, during one of his visits to Inverary Castle,
was good-naturedly presented to him by the duke,
and highly prized by Lewis, on account of some
real or fancied resemblance it bore to a later
beauty of that noble house, whose early influence
over his heart we have already spoken of.
He had also an admirably-selected library, con-
taining, among other acquisitions, a valuable col-
lection of German works, and scarce old English
and Scottish ballads. He had almost a passion for
mirrors; and Barnes, as well as the apartments
M. G. LEWIS. 333
which he afterwards occupied in the Albany, had
a profuse though tasteful display of these, as well
as an unusual quantity of exquisitely-finished
bijouterie, and of the most unique and classical
representations. For seals, also, his penchant
was peculiar : he was continually inventing new
mottos and devices, until at last he possessed a
stock that might have furnished the windows of a
jeweller's shop.
His miniature grounds were laid out with the
greatest taste and beauty. On the lawn before
the cottage were two finely-finished statues of
bronze ; one was a Cupid, in the act of flying from
a pedestal, on which was engraved the following
lines, from his pen :
" Though Age intrude, with frown repelling,
Love, while I live, shall share my dwelling :
' Begone, vain boy !' should stoics cry,
Just spread your wings — but never fly ."
The other, a figure representing Fortune, was
grasping a purse, and standing upon a globe ; on
the pedestal of which was written,
" Lo ! in my hand a purse of gold,
And at my feet the world behold ;
For they whom fortune's favours greet,
Still find the world is at their feet."
334 MEMOIRS OF
In this cottage, Lewis's bachelor hours were
often gladdened by the society of a few of his
favoured friends, in whom, as we have already
observed, no man was ever more fortunate. Here
it was that he once gave a dejedner a lafourchette
to his illustrious acquaintance the Duchess of
York, and her suite, with a numerous party of the
young nobility. The duchess had frequently ex-
pressed her intention of one day storming his
pretty hermitage ; and having repeated it in a less
sportive mood, he rightly construed it into a com-
mand, and made fitting preparations for the recep-
tion of his august visiter. The table was spread
under tents on the lawn, and of course all the beau-
ties of his fairy cottage were exhibited to the best
advantage on the occasion.
Her Royal Highness declared herself highly
pleased ; the rest of the party were, of course,
delighted ; and the poet and his guests parted,
mutually charmed with the entertainment and with
each other.
An account of this fete will be found in the
following letter, written by a friend who was pre-
sent to one of Lewis's female relations :
" MY DEAR MRS. B ,
" As you have laid your commands on me for a
* full, true, and particular account ' of friend Mat's,
M. G. LEWIS. 335
or, as S would call it, 'The Poet's' fete cham-
petre/ I sit down to my task : premising, however
(as in gallantry bound), that your absence cast a
gloom over the scene that almost amounted to a
'Scotch mist.' But, seriously, the thought of
your indisposition did cast an evident gloom over
the spirits of our host. During the day I scribbled
sundry little mems, all on purpose for you ; and,
upon my word, what with allowing that most fre-
quently slighted fair one — sweet simple Truth — a
little appropriate robing on so justifiable an occa-
sion, there are hopes that I may one day brew a
romance in some witch's cauldron, of potency
sufficient to stagger the great Monk himself. And
now to begin, as you say, at the beginning.
" On the privilege of an intimate, I started from
town at an early hour, and arrived at Barnes long
before the guests had assembled; very glad, some-
what tired, and very dusty ; my well irabrowned
apparel causing Cartier to look monstrous blue, as
I signified my intention of tasking his services in
setting it to rights. 'Bustle, bustle, toil and
bustle !' fc So, as the half- worried domestics seemed
unanimously agreed to lay no restraint upon my
inclinations, and I found I was permitted the
honour of conducting myself ' fancy free/ I soon
accepted the invitation of a little half-open gate,
336 MEMOIRS OF
stepped lightly across the little lawn, and turning
round (by the by, what a little place Mat's cottage
is) entered a winding path among all sorts of waving
blooming things. How lucky the day happened to
be fine ! Well, there I came upon the ' Monk '
himself, so suddenly, that I started back before
there was time to say, * Lord bless me I how d'ye
do?' And just then, something about the devil
coming into my head, I couldn't help casting a
look over my shoulder : there was a donkey
munching in the lane behind the hedge. * Come,'
thought I, ( matters might have been worse.' Our
friend was bending over some flowers, with a me-
lancholy abstracted air.
"'Holla! Mat,"saidl, 'here I am — time enough
I hope ?'
" ' You are a strange fellow, Fred,' said he,
holding out his hand kindly.
"He paused, and again became absorbed in
thought. Just then a gust of wind swept a blos-
som to his feet. He regarded it for a moment,
then taking it up, ' See,' said he, ' it is still in the
pride of its bloom : the hues are yet fresh, the
dews on it are yet bright, and thus, for a time,
it will remain. Still it is broken! still it is
broken !'
" His large black eyes filled with tears, and his
M. G. LEWIS. 337
voice had that sort of choking sound that I
so hate, and I accordingly got into a sort of pet,
and said,
" * Why the devil ! Mat, are you such a fool as to
— to — walk about this fresh morning without
your hat.9
" I think our ' Monk ' took what I said in
good part, for he shook me again by the hand, and
presently, in a more cheerful voice said, ' Come,
won't you like to see my preparations ?'
" I followed him into the principal room, among
all sorts of flowers and fragrance, books and pic-
tures, with here and there little elegant devices
and poetic fancies, just in his way you know.
There was your old friend too, the little bronze
Cupid you had used to admire, with his outstretched
wings and bended bow, and Mat's pretty lines on
the pedestal. He followed the direction of my
eyes.
" * Cupid exhibits so much bronze,' said he,
* because his votary owns so little marble, I sup-
pose.' Poor fellow ! he tried to look arch as he
made this remark ; but it wouldn't do, and as he
turned to the window, I heard him sigh.
" * Curse Cupid!' I was just beginning to mutter;
hcftvever I called his attention to the other pretty
ornament, the statue of Fortune — in a remarkably
VOL. i. z
338 MEMOIRS OF
graceful attitude, by the by — upon a globe, and
which, if you remember, has also awakened his
poetic inspiration.
" 'Come,' said I, 'here's one who tells us a better
tale. Faith it's a pity the jade should be blind,
with so much ballast/
' Her favoured ones prove often more blind
than herself,' observed Lewis ; ' hands may grasp
yon all-coveted purse, and its enjoyment still slip
through the fingers.'
" I thought that moment of the eyes his had so
often dried, and the hearts it had contributed to
lighten ; and instead of the terrible, the proscribed
4 Monk,' by heavens ! I seemed better to re-
cognise a character by no means so popular, though
occasionally spoken of as the Good Samaritan.
"We passed into another room ; it did not take
much time to arrive there, certainly ; yet, after all,
it is a pretty bijou of a place ; and, on this occasion,
of course, neither pains nor expense had been
spared to add to its agremens. I continued to
glide on amid all sorts of pretty knick-nackery ;
more than once finding reason to congratulate my
blundering shins, and some rare vase or elegant
flower-stand, on their mutual escape. And I am
expected to describe all these fine things ; — but no,
remember one of your own favourite observations,
M. G. LEWIS. 339
that in some society, we may be aware of the influence
of surrounding objects, without being able to note
one of them ; and thus, in fact, it was with me ; —
for Lewis was beginning to be in cue — you know
well what he can do at such times ; —indeed, I was
rejoiced to perceive his dejection wearing off, as cir-
cumstances compelled him to exertion.
" He was turning over a port-feuille — in so
doing, a paper fell to the ground; as it lay, I
could perceive " Stanzas" : — ' Am I one of the pri-
vileged, Mat ?' said I. He turned, perceived the
object of my inquiry, and merely smiled. I re-
peated my question. ' Pooh, nonsense !' he at last
replied, ''tis nothing —something I was scrib-
bling last night.'
" ' Well, well, am I privileged, I repeat ?'
" ' Do as you like, I shall never publish that.9
He was leaving the room as he spoke, apparently
to give some directions ; so availing myself of his
brief permission, I perused these discarded lines,
of which I conclude you will not dislike the follow-
ing copy I have since obtained.
340
MEMOIRS OF
THE SCYTHE OF TIME.
Blest was their way, Youth hail'd the hours,
In warbling numbers, over flowers,
Like bird of summer sky ;
While as a dew-drop that's still bright,
Lingers in violet bell, the light
Beam'd from Love's bashful eye ;
Hand press'd in hand, they pass'd along,
Youth with Love still blending song ;
And oh ! he vow'd in truth,
All changeful skies he would deride,
If with him Love would still abide.
Such was thy theme, fond Youth !
Now both, it seems, had heard or read
Of Time, but how could either dread
A bugbear neither knew ?
Besides Love boasted spells, whose power
Full well could guard his fairy bower ;
Be sure Youth thought so too.
Indeed the elves did frankly own,
That oft as by them Time had flown,
To banish every care
His glass Love stole, while Youth combined
To cheat their foe, who oft did find
Much mischief planning there.
M. G. LEWIS, 341
Then, too, Youth told how by Love's hand
Time's scythe was wreath'd like fairy wand,
So gay with bud and flower ;
As life's enchantments meant to aid, s
Instead of warning how they fade
With Time's untarrying hour.
How long 'twas thus their lot to rove,
Could neither tell, gay Youth or Love,
Or how the bright hours flew ;
(And who could ever tell the hours
If Love intwined Time's scythe with flowers ?
Ah ! none that Youth e'er knew.)
But as we know life's fairest day,
Like all fair things, will pass away,
And best of friends must part ;
So when his last those flowers to view,
And o'er departed youth to strew,
Love wept with all his heart.
Reflection, who in tranquil cell
Oft welcom'd Time, and prized him well,
Love to console, drew nigh,
To hear him call old Time his friend,
Who much had taught him to amend —
Twere well had Youth been by.
" Henceforth," he said, " at Honour's shrine
Esteem must rear, and Friendship twine,
The hues of Youth's bright way.
So shall Time spare Love's fairy bowers,
And his rough scythe be wreathed with flowers,
E'en in life's winter day,."
MEMOIRS OF
" I found that he had retired to dress, so
thought it time to follow his example. When I
again saw him the guests had assembled, and he
was conducting her royal highness. I am so glad
that you have been in the society of this charming
princess : for how could 1 ever describe the
fascination of her presence, or how the diadem of
royalty is eclipsed on a brow beaming so much
gentle beneficence ? As her delicate little figure
passed on, I could not help thinking of those
lines of Mat's, regarding her, in an epilogue to one
of his dramatic wonderments — I think it is
' Adelmorn ;* but as I cannot now quote them
correctly, you must read them for yourself.
" I looked towards the seat appropriated to the
duchess, who was conversing with the beautiful
Lady Charlotte Campbell. Meantime the general
enjouement of the scene proceeded with corres-
ponding effect. Bon-mots began to be gaily
bandied, among certain of the Blues and Butter-
flies present, ^and floated upon the flower-breathing
air as light, refreshing, and, generally speaking, as
evanescent. Music, was also in progress, while I
could perceive Mat beginning inwardly to fume, at
the non-appearance of a fashionable minstrel.
However, as I wish to render my task a pleasant
one, I would rather that the usual proportion of
* rubs,' should be rubbed out of my recollection.
M. G. LEWIS. 343
"I believe I had just named music — ah! and
there was music, since she was prevailed upon to
sing ; and the highborn and fairest of Caledonia's
daughters breathed the simple melodies of her
native hills to many a spell-bound heart.*
" I dared not look at our poor ' Monk' while she
sang, and was in truth, for his sake, rejoiced at a
proposal to change the scene.
# # # #
" The serenity of the atmosphere without be-
came inviting, and I found her royal highness
environed by fragrance and bloom, and attended
by a little coterie, allured by attractions of another
description, as listening with delighted attention
to sundry little anecdotes, illustrative of some of
woman's best feelings, detailed with woman's most
bewitching graces ; — gentleness and modesty
losing nothing of their charms by the condescen-
sion of royal lips.
" There were still a few loiterers round the
piano, playing and singing among themselves,
while some (lovers, probably,) were strolling upon
the lawn. I, however, preferred making one of
the little court about the duchess. 'Nay, but
* The vocal talent of Lady C. Campbell, and Scotch music, will
long be spoken of together.
344 MEMOIRS OF
you shall not take her away now,' said she as I
approached, and at the same moment perceived
Mat's favourite, Minnette, the petted tortoiseshell
cat, quietly seated on a portion of her royal high-
ness's drapery, and as though listening with grave
approbation to her sentiments. The shawl was
soft and luxurious, a fact which Minny had not
failed to discover to her heart's content; being,
moreover, like many about the person of royalty,
perfectly aware of the value of her place, and she
appeared resolved not to resign without some
struggles. I could discover all this plainly enough
the moment I saw her, with her gooseberry eyes,
blinking so familiarly at the duchess, deliberately
arid unceremoniously stretching herself, as she
curled her tail round her recumbent fat form, and
recomposed herself to her dozing slumbers ; — alto-
gether, I never witnessed any thing more cool in
my life !
" * No, no ! you shall not disturb her now.
Poor little ting ! I do tink she love me ; and,'
added the princess expressively, ' do not take
from me any ting dat love me.'
" ' Your royal highness is partial to all animals,
I believe,' observed a lady near her.
" ' Ah ! mien Got ! yes, matam, dey are so de-
pendent on us for kindness and protection ; and
M. G. LEWIS. 345
when dey make dere appeal in dere innocent
language, I tink we ought love dem, if only for
awaken the better part of our nature. Besides,
dey are grateful for kindness, dey are sincere, dey
are honest.'
" * Nay, nay, pardon me, madam,' interposed
Mat, laughing; * since, with regard to the latter
quality, I am sorry to say, I could not feel justi-
fied in being answerable for Minnette, if she
chanced to spy that custard.'
" The duchess laughed. ' Poor ting, poor little
ting !' said she, playing with the velvet ear of the
favourite, * dat is but dere nature. De dog, de
cat, dey will snap and dey will bite ; but how
could I punish de poor ignorant ting, dat av no
liberty of choice ? I av many dog, as you know,
but though I vos delight in de attachment and de
faith of my dog, I could not say de dog is virtuous
— still, I welcome de sweet spirit of affection —
dat it is win my regard. Ah ! Master Lewise,
me know dat de poor animal follow but dere
nature ; and would Got dat man so truly follow
his ; for his nature is divine /'
" It would have been impossible not to have
been interested with the grace and touching ear-
nestness with which the duchess spoke. A short
time afterwards some one mentioned the slave trade
346 MEMOIRS OF
and Mr. Wilberforce, which immediately called
forth fresh sentiments of philanthropy and benevo-
lence from her royal highness ; and these were
warmly responded to by Mat. But to tell you the
truth, what with dogs, cats, animals, and instincts,
and then the old story of Wilberforce and the
slaves, I was fast becoming ennuied, and I was
heartily glad when they changed the subject to
other matters. However, every body was pleased
and delighted, and none more so than the royal
guest, who, on parting, made many flattering
acknowledgments to Mat, of the pleasure she had
experienced on her visit to his ' sweet cottage ;'
and that she had spent ' much happy times in
listening to his sentiment, vat do honour to de
heart/ &c. &c. The rest of the guests remained,
wandering about the grounds, until twilight.
Your humble servant, however, continued a few
hours longer ; and before leaving, Mat extorted a
promise that I would spend a few days with him
at Barnes, before I returned to R — shire.
" Now, I think I have pretty well performed
my promise ; at all events, I have been scribbling
for two mortal hours ; but as Mat himself proposes
to visit you soon, you will perhaps hear more of the
M. G. LEWIS. 347
things that were said and done at hisf&te cham-
petre.
" Believe me,
" Yours ever sincerely,
" FREDERICK ."
Lewis was on very intimate terms with the
Duchess of York, for whom he entertained the
highest regard, and was well qualified to appre-
ciate many of the amiable qualities of heart with
which this excellent princess was so eminently
endowed. At Oatlands he was a frequent and
favoured visiter ; and on one occasion, her royal
highness presented him with a beautiful little
spaniel, called " Folly," of which the reader will
find mention in several of the succeeding letters.
The following almost impromptu lines were writ-
ten by Lewis, on one occasion, when the duches's
was lamenting to him her vain efforts to reclaim
an unworthy object of her bounty.
" The wretch to guilt _and misery flies,
And royal Frederica sighs,
O'er gracious plans defeated ;
Yet deem not, Princess, for yourself,
Tho' lost by that unworthy elf,
Your object not completed :
348 MEMOIRS OF
For long ere this,1to heavenly climes,
Your wish to save, his soul from crimes,
Has made its blest ascension ;
And in the book that angels read,
The page that should have held your deed
Is fill'd with your intention!"
But neither in retirement, nor when thus moving
in the gay routine of such exalted circles, was
Lewis inattentive to his mother's wants ; and,
although his circumstances must have now re-
quired a constant supply of money, we find him as
ready to share his purse with her as ever, and that
she still found him what his father termed an
"easy exchequer." The following letter will show
the willing promptitude with which he answered
her demands of this nature.
" Wednesday.
" MY DEAR MOTHER,
" I will not let a day pass without relieving you
from any anxiety which you may be under respect-
ing the loan which you wish to make — 1651. ; shall
be ready for you as soon after January as you
please j but as I give no interest for the money,
of course I can take none. Having said this,
suffer me to remind you of my peculiar situation,
M. G. LEWIS.
349
which will not always admit of my lending large
sums with as much facility as I can grantyo ur
present request. I have no fixed allowance ; my
money is not paid into my own hands, but is paid
by drafts upon my father ; which drafts are open
to his inspection, and liable to his inquiries as to
the occasion which I had for particular sum If,
in addition to the sums which I draw for my own
use, there should be a large sum lent to anoher
person, it might naturally lead him to ask to what
use I had applied it, and, on hearing the answer,
he might as naturally inquire what right I had to
lend his money, without previously asking whether
he chose to lend it. I cannot, therefore, but own
that it would not merely be inconvenient to me to
lend large sums out of his money, but, in my
opinion, absolutely wrong. Whatever is my own
I shall be always happy to accommodate you with,
but I have no right to make the same use of what
is my father's. The little sums which I have been
able to assist you with, from time to time, have
been my own property, either taken from the pro-
duce of my writings, or what I thought I had a
right (from having been moderate in my expen-
diture for a month or two), to bestow on my own
pleasures, than which I could have none greater
350 MEMOIRS OF
than contributing to yours. It is from the former
of these sources that I am now able to promise you
the loan which you request. Bell, the bookseller,
owes me about 300/., most of which I shall receive
by the end of January, and with the use of part of
which I shall readily accommodate you, and you
may replace it at your own convenience during any
period of the ensuing year ; but if I had not luckily
had this fund to resort to, I own I should have
found considerable inconvenience in managing the
business, since I must either have done what I
have absolutely no right to do (viz. : lent you my
father's money unknown to him), or else have
asked of him the loan of it for you as a favour,
which would have been extremely distressing to
me, as at present it would give me great pain to
be obliged to ask a favour of him. However, as it
is, I can accommodate you without either of the
above inconveniences, and whenever you let me
know after January, that you want the money, I
will send it to you.
" I intended to have gone to Lord R. Spencer's ;
but various things have detained me in London,
or rather at Barnes, for I stay in London as little
as possible. I did not, however, think it necessary
to answer your last letter on that point, as you
M. G. LEWIS. 351
desired me not, unless I should be free from en-
gagements, instead of which my time is so wholly
occupied by different things.
" Mrs. Whitelocke presses me very much to go
down to Portsmouth, and perhaps my going
would be at this period really a gratification to her.
As soon as the marriage is over (which will be
sometime in January), I shall probably join Lord
Henry Petty at Bath, and remain there till the
end of the month. Sophia, on her marriage, goes to
Twyford Lodge ; and I believe it is her intention
to request you to pay her a visit there, in which
case I shall if possible meet you.
" An additional reason for my being unwilling
to make more use of my father's money than I
can avoid, is that he really has not ready money
himself; a proof of which is, that he only pays
Sophia the interest of her fortune, and she is not
to receive the capital till his death ; though, on
Maria's marriage, he paid the whole of herTortune
down. Maria is quite well. I have no opera
coming out, or any thing but 'Alphonso.'
" Your affectionate son,
" M. G. LEWIS."
352 MEMOIRS OF
The following letter written to him by his aunt
Mrs. Blake, which he encloses in the succeeding
letter to his mother, is illustrative of the con-
tinuance of that lively regard, of which his pre-
vious letters have already afforded the reader so
many pleasing instances.
" Saturday.
" MY DEAR MATTHEW,
"As the pretty novelists say, 'impute my
silence to any thing but neglect.' I am much
obliged to you for your letter. I did not care
much about the orders, and as you will soon have
an opportunity of obliging me in this respect, I
don't mind it at all. Caroline, as you imagine, is
delighted, and declares, in good time, 'that she
can't bear going to Covent Garden.9 I went to
' The Castle Spectre,5 because both your uncle
and I had nearly forgotten it. We were very
much pleased with it ; and very glad that we
went. I am much grieved to find your mother
has had a relapse. She has seen Dr. Baillie, at
which I rejoice ; but I regret to find that on
Baillie's calling again, she declined seeing him.
" I know Baillie's time to be so very much en-
gaged, that he is obliged to decline seeing many
new patients, when he will call on those he has
M. G. LEWIS.
353
once seen, and he would not have called on your
mother had he not thought it necessary to make
some further alteration or observation necessary
for her certain recovery. He told her * her re-
covery would not be speedy.9 Yet, because she
felt relieved in the course of two days, who would
imagine that she could do without seeing him any
more ? Had he done her no good, I could have
reconciled it ; but I am, as it is, quite concerned at
her standing so in the way of her own good. I
have known Dr. Baillie many years, and had a
great deal to do with him , and I do declare I know
not a more disinterested man any where, or one
more humane and considerate in not putting him-
self in the way of taking one guinea unnecessary
from the patient. Your uncle has seen her, and
says, he does not like her appearance, and thinks
there is cause to be alarmed at the state of her
cough, if it is not soon cured. I paid her the
twenty pounds you desired me to give her.
" Believe me,
" Your most affectionate aunt,
« A. B.
" Pray tell me the first words of the glee you
desired Caroline to learn."
VOL. I.
354 MEMOIRS OF
" Sunday.
' MY DEAR MOTHER,
" I send a letter from Mrs. Blake to me, being
certain that the kindness of what she says, will
make you take it in good part, and I shall only
say for myself, that I agree with her entirely — I
depended on a line from you this morning (written
yesterday), to say that you had seen Dr. Baillie a
second time, and was quite disappointed at your
silence. Pray do not omit a single day, the
letters can have a single line at least, I shall not
be in town till Thursday.
" Your affectionate son,
« M. G. LEWIS."
The following is the next letter which Lewis
writes to his mother after her illness. The spec-
tacle to which he alludes was never, we believe,
produced at any theatre, and no copy of it seems
to have been preserved.
" MY DEAR MOTHER,
" I am very glad to find that you are more
comfortably situated than you were, and that your
mind is relieved from your former anxieties. It
will always give me the greatest pleasure to find,
that any endeavours of mine to produce that relief,
M. . G. LEWIS. 355
have in some degree been attended with success.
I thank you for the offer of your apartments ; but
you forgot that I am in possession of my uncle
Robert's house during his absence. When you
write to him, inquire after William Robertson.
The poor boy cut his hand dreadfully at Eton
with a penknife, and it was feared he would be
obliged to lose his finger ; but he came to town to
have it looked at, got nearly well, and is gone
down to Tilfham. As to my melodrame, it is no
particular secret. But still it is better not to
talk more about it than can be helped. Harris is
highly pleased with it, and means to bring it out
the first piece in the season, probably in the middle
of October. The scenes and dresses are already
preparing, and it is to be brought out with great
splendour; I have also given him the spectacle
which Sheridan stopped at Drury Lane, for ' Ali
Baba/ and which I then took away. Harris has
accepted it with great joy, and praises it extremely.
But I rather wish its appearance to be deferred till
another season.
" Your affectionate son,
" M. G. LEWIS."
0
356 MEMOIRS OF
« Wednesday,
" MY DEAR MOTHER,
"I cannot tell you how much surprised and dis-
appointed I am, at finding by a note from Mrs.
H ,* that you have relinquished the idea of being
her inmate. When William told me of the plan, I
thought that it would be the very thing for you.
He described the cottage as being most beautiful,
and I thought that I heard you speak in praise of
Cornwall Cottage. The being so near town
seemed to me also an advantage ; while its not
being actually in town was likely to be beneficial
to your health. You hate housekeeping, which
thus would have been taken off you by Mrs.
H ; and you have always seemed to like her
society. I promised myself the pleasure of seeing
you often, and at length comfortably, for in truth I
have never yet been able to do that,, except perhaps
when you lived at Leatherhead. But Brompton
being in the way to Barnes, and so near London,
during the spring and summer I should often have
taken a walk to ask you for a mutton-chop. Above
all, it would have been the greatest relief and
consolation to me to be certain that you were not
at the mercy of vulgar landlords and landladies,
* The lady before frequently mentioned as Mrs. K , a second
marriage having changed the initial of her surname to " H."
M. G. LEWIS. 357
but with a family who must necessarily be anxious
to do every thing to please you. I cannot tell you
how sorry I am that you have not adopted this
plan. Certainly, you know your own views and
wishes best ; but let me at least beg you to recon-
sider this matter, before you reject it finally.
" I am still in town. You have run the risk of
losing me. Captain Percy, Lord Beverly's son,
being drunk at a masquerade (at least every one
says that he was drunk), was personally rude to
me, and I was obliged to call him to an account.
Luckily, he was well advised ; and the business
was at length settled by his sending a very full
apology in writing, with permission to make it
public. Let me hear from you.
" Your affectionate son,
"M. G. LEWIS/*
" Monday.
" MY DEAR MOTHER,
" I send you Mrs. H *s note, respecting
your declining to become her inmate. William
certainly told me, that his mother had declined a
house near the river, because you had objected to
it ; but that now she had taken Cornwall Cottage,
and had written to offer you an apartment in it.
I have written to Mrs. H. on the subject.
As to her taking a house at Hampstead, that is
858 MEMOIRS OF
now quite out of the question, as the Brompton
house is already engaged, and I believe she is
actually moving into it. I am sorry that I cannot
accept your invitation to Hampstead, which is
much too far for me to walk and return. I believe
I have lately overdone the walking business. Be-
sides this, I have my rehearsals to attend, which
last till four o'clock. I am also now going to pass
some days with Lord Holland, who, on Monday
last, lost his uncle, General Fox, and can only see
few people. After that, I have some thoughts
of accepting young Lambton's offer of conveying
me down in his barouche to the Brighton Races,
and thence to Worthing, to see Lady C. Campbell,
and then to bring me back again with his horses.
After this expedition, I shall probably go to Oak-
end, and stay some time there, and at Lord Car-
rington's : then to my sister's, if she can receive
me, and thence probably to Lord Melbourne's.
" I believe the Arabian afterpiece, which I
once read to you, will be brought out next season
at Covent Garden ; but this is not certain, and I
do not expect it to have much success.
" My duel is completely at an end. The apo-
logy was made in writing; some expressions, to
which I objected, were immediately altered ; and it
was given me, with full permission to make it as
public as I pleased, except that it was not to be
M. G. LEWIS. 359
inserted in the newspapers. It was nearly as fol-
lows : — * Sir : understanding from Mr. Lamb, that
some observations of mine at Lady Cork's, on
Thursday, were considered by you as an incivility,
I have no hesitation in assuring you, that I did
not mean to give you the slightest offence : and I
must feel sorry, that any thing escaped me, that
could be deemed improper.'
" I think, this was full enough in all conscience.
" Your affectionate son,
« M. G. LEWIS."
Mrs. Lewis, with the morbid jealousy of a per-
son in her position in society, imputed his objec-
tion to her contemplated removal to Old Brompton,
to the proximity of the situation to the residence
of a Mr. C— — g, with whom she imagined her son
was on terms of intimacy. Lewis was naturally
somewhat irritated at this, and considering the
dutiful manner in which he had invariably acted,
and the attentive notice which in public as well as
in private he had always paid her, it was certainly
a charge as unfounded as uncalled for. He accord-
ingly replies to it somewhat indignantly in the
following letter :
360
MEMOIRS OF
" Thursday.
" MY DEAR MOTHER,
" It is quite evident that you have not yet
learned the nature of my feelings, my sentiments,
and my opinions, nor in what my pride consists :
but I really think when I had once told you, that
I had quite forgotten Mr. C g*s neighbourhood
to Brompton, and did not care about it a straw, I
ought to have been believed. I now repeat, that
C had nothing to do with my objections to your
cottage ; that I do not visit him, nor have seen
him above twice in the course of the last four
years ; and to put the matter beyond all doubt, I
shall add, that if instead of being a very good
woman (which I believe you), you were the exact
reverse, you would still be too good to associate
with Mr. C g's own mother, whose character
has been notoriously profligate ; who has long ago
married a man of the lowest description, and who
has been a public actress at Portsmouth, and
other blackguard theatres. Permit me to say, that
the plan which I approved of, was your residing in
Mrs. H 's house. This might have been a very
bad plan for you to adopt ; I do not say that it
would have been a good one, though it appeared
so to me j I only say that your present plan is not
mine, nor was it ever approved of by me. I only
M. G. LEWIS. 361
held my tongue, thinking that you must know
your own affairs best, nor did I avow my dis-
approbation till I heard from Mr. Ingall, not
merely the danger of thieves, &c., but the charac-
ter of Mrs. B n. This last circumstance was
that which decided me : especially since young
K told me, that Mrs. B n was the mistress
of either Lord B d, or Lord H n, and that
it was understood that she still received the visits
of one of these noblemen (both of whom I am well
acquainted with), that her society is composed of
women of her own description, that she is so riot-
ous that once Mrs. H sent her a threat of in-
diting her for a nuisance, and that she had declared
her object in letting her house to be society, not
profit.
" Now it would be impossible for me to visit my
mother at a house where I might find Lord B d
visiting his mistress ; and therefore I must plainly
say, that if you take the cottage I cannot possibly
come to see you there. What I said respecting
my stopping to dine with you occasionally, in my
way to Barnes, was merely a faqon de parler. I
meant that I should then be likely to see you
oftener without inconvenience. Whether I dined
or not, was perfectly immaterial ; and as to Mrs.
H 's keeping a school, still, when I wrote to
362 MEMOIRS OF
you, I thought she had given it up. As to what
you say about Mrs. H 's acquaintance and
your own, with all that I have nothing to do : I
care nothing about rank in life, nothing about what
other people may think or may say ; and have
always, both in my public writings and private
life, shown (what Mr. Pitt was pleased to call) a
pleasure in spitting in the face of public opinion.
I live as much with actors, and musicians, and
painters, as with princes and politicians, and am as
well satisfied, and better indeed, with the society of
the first, as with that of the latter. But I abso-
lutely require that people should possess some
quality or other to amuse me or interest me, or I
had rather be by myself. People may be very
good sort of people, and have nothing in them for
me to object to ; but if they have nothing more,
they would bore me, and being bored is to me
positive torture. In short, I will either live
with people of my own choice, and who can
manage to engage my affections or amuse my
mind (be they princes or be they fiddlers and
fluters), or I will live alone. I return you
many thanks for offering to consult my feelings
respecting the cottage ; but I request you only to
consult your own prudence and your own conve-
nience. You are perfect mistress of your own
M. G. LEWIS. 363
actions without my having either right or intention
to find fault with them. I only beg to be allowed
to remain master of mine.
" I am sorry that I can promise you no orders.
I have asked for them twice, and as none have been
sent, I cannot ask for them a third time.
" Your affectionate son,
" M. G. LEWIS."
The remark which Lewis here makes regarding
the necessary qualifications of those in whose so-
ciety he could find pleasure, was amply corrobo-
rated by his practice. His intimate friends were
all such as he here describes them : they were all
distinguished for " some quality to amuse or inte-
rest." Among these was the amiable but eccentric
Lady C k, who in this respect was of a dispo-
sition something like his own. Nothing de-
lighted her ladyship so much as to be surrounded
by odd people of every description, no matter in
what line of absurdity they excelled; the very
grave — the very gay — the very clever — the very
dull — all had charms in the eyes of Lady C k.
Yet, she was a person of a highly-cultivated
mind, and found great pleasure in the society
of men of letters, and many of the leading literary
men of the day were frequent and welcome visiters
364 MEMOIRS OF
at her house. Her ladyship took a great fancy to
Mr. Thomas M e, then in the zenith of popu-
larity and the darling of the day ; and one evening
took it into her head to gratify her guests with
some passages of dramatic reading. Mr. M e
was the fascinating medium selected for this "flow
of soul," upon which it seemed the lady had set
her heart, but against which it proved the gentle-
man had set his face : he was exceedingly sorry —
was particularly engaged — had besides a very bad
cold — a terribly obstinate hoarseness ; and declared
all this with an exceedingly " good evening" ex-
pression of countenance. Her ladyship was puz-
zled how to act, until Lewis came to her relief;
and in a short time she made her appearance with
a large Burgundy pitch plaster, with which she
followed the wandering melodist about the room,
who in his endeavours to evade his well-meaning
pursuer and her formidable recipe, was at length
fairly hemmed into a corner. Whether he there
exerted his eloquence in protestations of gratitude,
or in prayers for assistance we never heard, but as
they say of the heroes of romance, * he at length
effected his escape.'
" Having one day taken into her head to have
a * raffle,' or lottery, for a charitable purpose, she
mentioned her idea to Lewis, who entered into the
M. G. LEWIS. 365
project with great willingness, and under his direc-
tion the whole affair was managed. As it was
arranged that every body was to win something
Lewis took care that the prizes should be of a
nature that would create the most ludicrous per-
plexity to their owners. Accordingly, on the even-
ing appointed (for the raffle took place at a soiree},
the assembled guests were parading the bril-
liantly-lighted drawing-rooms, burdened with the
most out-of-the-way articles the eccentric hostess
could procure ; while the inventor of this novel
kind of plaisanterie was silently enjoying the joke
their distress. Gentlemen were seen in every
direction, running about with teapots in their
hands, or trays under their arms, endeavouring to
find some sly corner, in which to deposit their
prizes ; while young ladies were sinking beneath
the weight, or the shame, of carrying a coal-scuttle
or a flat-iron. Guinea-pigs, birds in cages, punch-
bowls, watchmen's rattles, and Dutch-ovens, were
perplexing their fortunate., or, as perhaps they
considered themselves, unfortunate proprietors ;
and Lady C '& raffle was long remembered by
those who were present as a scene of laughter and
confusion.
The desultory character of the letters which
Lewis wrote about this period, affords a good in*
366 MEMOIRS OF
dication of his habits, and of the life he con-
tinued to lead.
** London, August 1.
, " MY DEAR MOTHER,
" I remained perfectly without motion at Barnes
for ten whole days ; and was no better for it : then
I began to endeavour to walk, and I do not find
that I am any worse : though walking is too noble
a name for it ; it is nothing better than something
between a hobble, and a shuffle, and a jump with
the well leg, partaking of the nature of all those,
but by no means as good as any of them.
" I passed three days last week at Lord Bes-
borough's ; to-day I am come to town to see
Colonel Cadogan, who has lately returned from
Portugal ; and on Friday, my uncle Robert is to
send his horses to convey me to Oak-end, where
I mean to pass three or four days, or (if I have
time), perhaps a week, I have also some thoughts
of going for a few days to Lord Mahon, who lives
at High Wycombe, not above ten miles from Oak-
end.
" What are your plans ? I shall certainly go to
Scotland on the first of September, Sophia is gone
to the Isle of Wight for six weeks. Of Maria, I
M. G. LEWIS. 367
have heard nothing since her departure, but am
going to write to her. You did quite right about
Lord Henry Petty' s letter. I thought the two-
penny post had been a remarkably safe convey-
ance ; but have found it the contrary, to my great
annoyance : for Macdonald put a parcel for me
into it on the day of his leaving town, arid it has
never reached me, though every possible inquiry
has been made ; and what makes this particularly
vexatious is, that as he is gone to Scotland, I
cannot for some time hear what the parcel con-
tained, and whether it was of consequence or not.
This frightened me so much, that I would not let
Lord Henry's letter be sent to Barnes, and there-
fore only received it to-day. It contained a very
pretty seal. Macdonald too has sent one quite
beautiful ; and I hear that Lady Cowper and Wil-
liam Lamb have two more in hand for me. I
scolded Lady Cowper the other day, for not hav-
ing got her seal ready ; she assured me that she
had been to ask for it, but that the jeweller told
her that it could not be done, there was so great
a number wanted ; and she says, that she is cer-
tain, that / have occasioned the demand.
" Mr. Dimond has brought out a very interest-
ing play, called ' The Foundling of the Forest ;'
but there are so many incidents resembling those
368
MEMOIRS OF
in various pieces of mine, that it is quite singular.
He told me so himself, before the play came out,
and said, that he had tried to guard against it;
but that it always happened so, and that if he
were to write a thousand plays, he was sure that
they would, in some way or other, be like some of
mine.
" Your affectionate son,
" M. G. LEWIS."
The next letter is the first which is dated from
the Albany, in Piccadilly, where Lewis now pos-
sessed apartments, and is written on his return from
a visit to the present Earl Grey at Howick, where
he wrote the ballad of " Sir Guy the Seeker," which
afterwards appeared in his " Romantic Tales."
" The Albany, October 10.
" MY DEAR MOTHER,
" Frederick will have told you that I am here
and well. I came from Lord Grey's by sea, but I
thought it as well not to tell you of my intention
to do so, as it might have made you anxious for
my safety ; seeing that the project was really not
without its dangers. A voyage by sea can never
be quite a safe thing, while there are storms, pri-
vateers, drunken pilots, and careless captains ; and,
M. G. LEWIS. 369
moreover, I found that the navigation of the coast
is very dangerous, from the numerous quicksands
which border almost its whole length. My crew
happened to be remarkably careful and well
experienced ; but still they frequently preferred
dropping anchor, to running the risk of passing
particular places in the dark. Besides this, for the
first three days we were involved in so thick a fog,
that we were obliged to keep a horn sounding,
day and night, to prevent other ships coming upon
us unexpectedly. We passed a vessel like our own,
which had been run down in this manner, and was
lying with only her mast-head above water. Be-
sides this, the passage up the river, from Green-
wich to Wapping, was the most nervous hour that
I ever passed, owing to the multitude of shipping
which we were obliged to thread like a labyrinth.
However, our people were very careful, and I
reached London much pleased that I had under-
taken the -voyage ; for, besides that I had seen
much that was new to me, I had arrived by sea at
the expense of three guineas, which by land would
have been thirty.
" I saw Frederick, and am glad to hear from you
so good an account of him. I certainly would
readily serve him, having known him so long ; and
VOL. I. 2 B
370 MEMOIRS OF
as I look upon Mr. Ingall as having really been a
very serviceable friend to you, and to have your
interest very much at heart, I consider him as
having a claim upon me, if I had any power ; but
that is exactly what I have not. As to General
Brownrigg, he has now no more influence in
military matters than you have. While the Duke
was in office,, and while Brownrigg was his secretary,
he could easily be of use ; but now he can only get
a commission by asking it as a favour done to him-
self, and this is more than any one has a right to
require of another. Besides, I have already asked
and obtained so many favours of him in the military
line, that I cannot, with any decency, ask more ;
and, lastly, he has not only a great many of his
own separate relations in the army, but there are
also of mine, R. Sewell, M. Blake, and two of his
own sons, for whom all his military interest must
be required. As to the present commander-in-
chief, I do not know him even to speak to.
" I certainly could introduce Frederick to Brown-
rigg, but I cannot see of what use it would be ;
and merely taking a person to show him to the
general, could only be considered by the latter
as a superfluous intrusion, and he would ask me
(and with justice), * What the devil I brought the
lad to him for ?'
M. G. LEWIS. 371
" The Princess Amelia cannot last long ; that
is certain. As I had rather be out of town during
the fortnight when the theatres will be closed, I
am waiting for this event in order to go to Oak-end,
and am, at present, most uncommonly well, but I
have a pain in my wounded leg, which I verily
believe to be gout.
" Maria is in town, and in very good health.
When I was going to embark, it occurred to me
that I might be drowned by the way, and that I
might as well have disposed of what little plate,
furniture, &c., I possess, by will. I have now
repaired that omission, and I now tell it you, in
order that if, at any time, I make a sudden exit
(which I do not just now intend), you may take
care to inquire for my will, by which means you
may find yourself heiress to half-a-dozen tea-
spoons.
" Three broken chairs, and a copper skillet,
That runs as fast as you can fill it.
Believe me, my dear Mother,
" Your most affectionate son,
" M. G. LEWIS.'
MEMOIRS OF
" April 24th.
" MY DEAR MOTHER,
" Probably I shall be in Gerrard-street myself
on the 1st of May ; and certainly either Betty or
Cartier will be here, and I shall give directions
about receiving the money, and paying the note.
As to letters, it really does very often happen that
they are several days without reaching me. Not
a month ago, Mrs. Blake sent me one, requesting
me to forward it instantly. It was a fortnight at
least in reaching its destination ; and I wished to
guard you against any such accident. I some-
times go into the country for a day, order no
letters to be sent to me, and then stay on from
day to day for a month ; and also, when I am
going to any very pleasant place, I order my
letters to be kept till my return, in order that I
may not receive such as would put me out of hu-
mour. Once I returned from Scotland, andby this
means found the accumulated letters of ten weeks.
" I mention the fact, merely to show you that
this is no mere whim of mine, but a system. I
receive so many more unpleasant letters than
pleasant ones, that sometimes I like to put my
contentment out of the power of the post.
" What I said about Carrier's carrying your
letters, had no reference whatever to your last
letter to 5 but I wished you to know, that I
M. G. LEWIS. 373
would not answer for his being able to leave them.
I have so much for him to do which will not admit
of delay, that I cannot find time to send him out
of his beat. If your commissions are in his way,
he shall do them readily ; or if, by accident, he
should be unemployed ; but there is scarcely a day
that he has not to go as far as Paddington, besides
other messages.
" I am sorry for Lady J — s's ill-humour ; but I
cannot believe it to proceed from any of the rea-
sons you give ; unless, perhaps, being ill, she
might rather wish to be quite alone. It is a pity
that your visit was not made earlier ; but you
could not foresee her caprice.
" I continue to lead the same life, and really
begin to long to be a little by myself again. I
have only dined at home once since you went,
and am engaged till Sunday next ; and I never
get to bed till three or four o'clock. Hitherto I
have had very good health, but I begin to feel
bilious.
" Here has another great lady taken it into her
head to shower down her civilities upon me. On
Friday, the Princess of Wales (who, sans rime ou
raison, has not spoken to me for these five years)
chose to send for me into her box at the Argyle
Rooms, made me sup with her, asked me to din-
ner yesterday, and kept me till three o'clock in
374 MEMOIRS OF
the morning, and was extremely good-humoured
and attentive. To-day I dine at York House,
and then sup with the Princess of Wales at the
Admiralty: so that, for these two days, I shalJ
have a dose of royalty.
" Pray write to Mrs. Mitz. Tell her that, in
consequence of her long friendship for you, I im-
mediately, on receipt of her letter, wrote to Lord
J. Campbell j but the agency was already given to
Mr. Donaldson.
" Your affectionate son,
" M. G. LEWIS."
" Wednesday.
" MY DEAR MOTHER,
" When there are two constructions to be put
upon my conduct, I confess I am surprised that
you prefer putting the most unfavourable one,
especially as in the present instance you put the
wrong one. It was not out of hauteur that I did
not write to Mrs. Mitz, myself, but, in the first
place, because I only asked the favour for her out
of consideration of her being your friend, and I
was willing that you should have the merit with
her of my having asked it ; for as to her being the
* daughter of my old schoolmaster, whom I did not
care for, and scarcely remember,' it would not have
weighed a straw with me : and ' long acquaintance,'
without the least intimacy being produced by it,
M. G. LEWIS. 375
would weigh with me just as little. In the second
place, if I had written to her myself, I must have
expressed a great deal of pleasure if I had suc-
ceeded, and * sorrow at having failed ;' of neither
of which I felt a grain, and this I wished to
avoid, and, into the bargain, / hate writing, and
you are fond of it. But as to your charge of
* thinking it beneath me to answer her,' you could
not well have hit upon one more totally un-
founded.
" I dined with both my sisters yesterday, who
are quite well, and Maria dines with me to-morrow,
at Barnes, to meet Mr. Scott, the poet. Cartier is
a little better, and flatters himself that he shall be
able to keep his place. I fear not, but shall go on
with him as long as I possibly can.
" I believe the queen took away the poem, more
from curiosity to see what was in it about the
duchess, &c., than for the purpose of admiring the
penmanship ; so that I fear Mr. Ingall must not
look for preferment from Windsor on that account.
" Tierney abused ministers in the House of
Commons about my Monody (I think I told you
this before) ; so I am printing it, and will send you
a copy soon. It is dedicated to the Princess of
Wales, who accepted it very graciously.
" Your affectionate son,
" M. G. LEWIS."
376 MEMOIRS OF
The poem here alluded to as having been taken
away by the queen, was one which Lewis wrote
on the occasion of the Duchess of York's visit to
Barnes, of which no copy remains extant. It
was in the handwriting of the gentleman just
mentioned, Mr. Ingall, whose name occurs fre-
quently in Lewis's letters, as that of a person
for whom he had a sincere regard. The monody
he mentions was on the death of Sir John Moore,
and was spoken by Mrs. Powell at Drury Lane,
but prohibited on the third night, by the Lord
Chamberlain.
The following is the passage in Mr. Tierney's
speech to which Lewis alludes.
" Mr. Tierney observed, that he would not have
believed that there had been such a want of co-
operation among ministers. But such was the
fact, and there could be no doubt that the dis-
asters of the campaign were in a considerable
degree to be ascribed to Mr. Frere's interference.
Mr. Tierney then adverted to the distressing
situation in which Sir John Moore had been placed,
owing to the negligence of ministers, and dwelt
upon the admirable manner in which he had con-
ducted himself, He could not, however, help
saying, that there appeared among ministers some-
thing like a disposition to keep the merits of Sir
John Moore from the public view. He would ask
M. G. LEWIS.
377
whether an order had not been sent to the Drury
Lane Company by the Lord Chamberlain, not to
continue the recitation of a Monody to the memory
of Sir J. Moore, composed by a member of that
house ? The gentlemen at Lloyd's, too, proposed
at one time to expend something to honour the
memory of Sir J. Moore, but they had afterwards
discovered that they were not sufficiently rich for
it. This was very extraordinary. Though they
were too poor to honour the memory of Sir J.
Moore, they were rich enough to honour the me-
mory of Sir H. Popham. (A loud laugh.) He
concluded by observing, that from the evidence
now before the house, it was manifest that the
noble lord opposite (Lord Castlereagh), was not
to be trusted with the management even of a cor-
poral's guard. Unless parliament consented to
pass a vote of censure upon the conduct of this
campaign, the house would be responsible for
whatever mismanagement might in future take
place by the noble lord's means."
The monody, although published by Lewis, is
now quite out of print (fifty copies only having
been printed), and we shall therefore subjoin it
as copied from his own MS.
378 MEMOIRS OF
MONODY ON THE DEATH OF SIR JOHN MOORE,
Recited by Mrs. Powell, at Drury-lane Theatre.
From sad Iberia's coast, while Gallic fires
Pursued his bark, and shook Corunna's spires,
A British chief, as, plunged in grief, he eyed
The shores where Moore had fought, where Moore had died,
Dash'd from his cheek the manly tear, arid paid
This parting tribute to the hero's shade :
" When first, O Moore ! that truncheon of command,
Thou sway'dst so ably, graced thy martial hand,
Who that had seen thee, had forborne to say,
' Favour'd of God and mortals, speed thy way !'
If man there breathes to whom, by lavish heaven,
Unbalanced bliss and cloudless skies are given,
Whom Nature's eyes and Fortune's seem to see
Alike with partial love, sure thou art he !
For who with Moore in Nature's gifts could vie ?
Or when did Fortune richer streams supply ?
His person formed the coldest maid to move,
His hand for friendship, and his heart for love.
Frank in his language, polish'd in his mind,
Was none so firm or gen'rous, true or kind ;
Exalted courage shone o'er all his face,
And manly beauty lent that courage grace ;
Health his brown cheek with glowing roses drest,
Strength knit his limbs, and life was at its best.
E'en Fortune's self his merits seem'd to feel, —
For him unveil'd her eyes, and fix'd her wheel.
M. G. LEWIS. 379
No chilling clouds obscured his morn, and bade
His youthful talents languish in the shade :
To clear his passport to the shrine of Fame,
All own'd at once the justice of his claim ;
Nor dared e'en Envy's self deny, through spite,
That Moore had merit, or the sun had light.
He mourn'd no sland'rous tales, no piteous hate,
Nor paid that common task for being great ;
With steps so firm, he trod his even road,
So pure from soil his vital current flow'd,
That Slander quite despair'd his life to stain,
Nor wasted efforts on a task so vain !
His earliest youth was gilt by glory's rays,
Year follow'd year, and praise was heap'd on praise.
How bright the scenes which round his manhood rise !
Still brighter prospects beck'ning Time supplies ;
All thought desires, all men of Heav'n implore,
All these are his — alas ! are his no more !
Health, virtues, glory, talents, rank, and power,
The wealth of years is spent in one short hour.
Fate guides the ball to strike the hero low,
And England's bleeding bosom shares the blow.
And couldst thou, Moore ! ere fled thy soul away,
Doubt Britain to thy worth would honours pay ?
And could he value trophies raised by art,
Whose fame must live, stamp'd on his country's heart?
Oh ! in yon martial bands, with gashes seam'd,
Saved by thy prudence, with thy blood redeem'd,
Behold a monument of prouder praise
Than head can fancy, or than hand can raise !
Each anxious mother, and each tender wife,
Who trembled for a sire's or husband's life,
380 MEMOIRS OF
Shall bless thy name, while to her breast she strains
Her warrior rescued from yon dang'rous plains ;
Rescued from death, or, worse than death — from chains !
"Twas thine to bid the mourners cease to mourn,
Thine was the balm which heal'd their bosoms torn !
In grateful tears thy noblest triumphs know,
Tis more than kings or senates can bestow.
Yet, ere Corunna's walls in distance fade
(Those fatal walls, where Moore at rest is laid),
Brothers in arms ! with me your voices join,
Bend o'er your swords, as now I bend o'er mine ;
And swear — by that pure blood, whose glorious tide
The lap of weeping Conquest richly dyed —
A day shall come at length (a day of dread),
When France shall wish the hero's blood unshed :
Grief for his loss, and more than mortal ire
Nerving our arms, and doubling all our fire,
Shall make th' oppressors think, in turn oppress'd,
The soul of Moore inspires each Briton's breast.
That sword which triumphed in Vimeira's field,
His brother hero soon again shall wield ;
Wrath, gen'rous wrath, shall make his vict'ry sure, —
And WELLESLEY'S life assuage the death of MOORE !
The above was a mere ephemera of the day,
infinitely below the standard of Lewis's general
poetical compositions, and quite unworthy of his
pen. We should, therefore, not have deemed it
worth introducing into our pages, but for the
circumstance of its having been made a matter of
observation in the House of Commons.
M. G, LEWIS.
381
The Monody on the Death of Fox, also copied
from Lewis's original MSS., is as far above as the
foregoing is below mediocrity. We place it before
our readers for the sake of its intrinsic merits, and
also for a passage which Lewis, fancying it might
be considered improper (having, we suppose, the
lesson of the cherubim scene, in his drama of
Adelmorn, before his eyes), cut out with his own
hand, before it went to press. This passage we
have marked with italics.
LINES,
Written on returning from the Funeral of the Right Honourable
C. J. Fox, Friday, October 10, 1806.
, ADDRESSED TO LORD HOLLAND.
" Pianger ben merti ognor, s' ora non piangi." — TASSO.
And is this all? — that vast and vigorous mind,
Whose views embraced the good of all mankind ;
That reasoning eloquence, whose rapid course
Bore down the opposer with resistless force ;
That genius, from all trick and tinsel free,
Bright as the sun, and boundless as the sea ;
That heart, with friendship, love, and feeling fraught ;
That world of knowledge, and that depth of thought ;
That truth, taste, sense, simplicity, and worth, —
Oh ! and are all these hid in that small heap of earth ?
382 MEMOIRS OF
Weep, Albion, weep ! them wilt not weep alone,
The globe's four quarters shall repeat thy moan :
For where's the clime which hath not felt the care
Of him, whose liberal love all nature seem'd to share ?
INDIA,* whose cause he laboured to uphold,
Whose rights he pleaded, and whose wrongs he told,
Shall feel her breast with fond remembrance swell,
And mourn his loss, who mourn'd her woes so well.
AMERICA! shall grateful weep the sage
Who stemm'd the torrent of oppression's rage ;
Cherish'd her gen'rous zeal, and joy'd to see
Her injured offspring's efforts to be free !
On Armc's}: burning plains her sable sons,
While down their cheeks the stream of sorrow runs,
Shall bless the man, who bade them dread no more
The servile chain, and scourge which streams with gore.
And (nearer home) embattled powers, who sigh
To sheath the sword, and hoped that rest was nigh,
Shall feel with Fox's death those hopes decrease,
And bleeding EUROPE mourn the friend of peace !
In forms of fire, stamp'd on my heart and brain,
This day's funereal pomp shall still remain ;
Still I'll repeat, " Fate ! gave me once to see
Malice herself to Virtue bend the knee !"
Yes ! Fox was mourn'd as Fox deserved to be !
The sovereign's power enjoin'd no publics how —
The pomp was public, for the grief was so !
* Hastings's trial. f The American wa
His efforts to abolish the Slave Trade.
M. G. LEWIS.
383
No courtier here display'd his gilded wand,
And mourn'd obsequious at his king's command ;
No pension'd hireling show'd his careless face,
To please his patron, and preserve his place.
Here throng'd, with swelling hearts, and streaming eyes,
The good, the great, the learned, and the wise ;
Here met to grieve, firm faith and love sincere,
And patriot worth sustain'd the kindred bier :
Here Britain sigh'd o'er many a ruin'd plan,
Friends o'er the friend, and Nature o'er the man.
Nor did the nobler ranks all tears engross, —
A general anguish spoke a general loss ;
As moved with measured pace the pomp along,
How reverent grief to statues turn'd the throng !
No smile of vacant pleasure shock'd the eye ;
No sound the ear, unless a stifled sigh.
The mourners past, alone mark'd out to view
By weeds of black, — the crowd were mourners too ;
And tho' nor flowing scarfs nor sable dress
Declared by outward signs the mind's distress,
They wore (what grief of heart more surely speaks),
Swoll'n eyes, dejected looks, and bloodless cheeks.
It seem'd, as slowly swung the passing bell,
On each full heart the solemn chimings fell.
Methought on ev'ry lip a blessing hung,
But pious awe restrain'd the obedient tongue.
Each limb shook aguish, scarce a cheek was dry ;
And, blinded by the gush of tears, each eye
Spoke in the native tongue of genuine woe,
" We come to weep the friend, not to admire the show !"
384
MEMOIRS OF
Hail, hallow'd towers !* — Oh ! spread your portals wide,
Guest more illustrious never swelled your pride !
To meet his corpse, ye kindred shades arise,
Shades of the good, the glorious, and the wise.
For he was glorious, wise, and good like you :
Give place, ye kings, and pay him reverence due !
Nor plead superior power, nor loftier birth, —
His deeds are greatness, and he ranks from worth.
Oh ! sad, strange moment ! when that awful word,
Soul-felt, soul-rending, " dust to dust," was heard,
How stood the blood congeal'd in ev'ry vein !
How memory wrung the heart, and fired the brain !
Oft as these walls have heard the solemn sound,
And oft as tears have dew'd that hallow'd ground,
From nobler eyes a tribute more sincere
Ne'er flow'd, O Fox, than flow'd to bathe thy bier!
There princely DEVON labour'd to restrain
His bursting grief, but labour'd still in vain ;
In sorrow dignified, there MOIRA stood, —
MOIRA the brave, the gen'rous, and the good.
There HOWICK'S heart was torn by many a sigh,
And soft affection dimm'd his beaming eye ;
When to the grave he saw for aye descend
His mind's best model, and his soul's best friend.
He, too, the just, the true, the pure, the kind,
The mild in manners, and the firm in mind ;
Whose heart might bleed, but not whose virtue bend,
Who left the statesman, yet still kept the friend ;
Westminster Abbey.
M. G. LEWIS. 385
And courting Fox's love his proudest boast,
Who e'en when most they differ'd, prized him most,* —
FITZ WILLIAM there, as swell'd the requiem strain,
Wept o'er his earliest friendship's broken chain ;
And there, too, thou — heir to the patriot's flame,
Heir to his worth, his talents, and his name ;
Allied by virtue as allied by blood,
Like Fox, sincere, warm, candid, kind, and good —
Thou HOLLAND — No, let others fill the line,
Twould pain my heart too much to speak the pains of thine!
Nor those alone whom earthly grief excites,
Here hang the head. To grace the funeral rites,
Lo ! where a band of bright ethereal powers
Sigh o'er his corpse, and deck his grave with flowers.
There stand the PATRIOT-VIRTUES, loath to part
For ever from their favourite home — his heart.
There HISTORY droops, absorbed in speechless grief,
Blotting with idle tears the unfinish'd leaf;
And trampling in the dust those useless boughs
Of bays, she gather'd to adorn his brows ;f
Mourning her sons disfranchised, while her eyes
Pursue the Patriot's shade to opening skies :
RELIGION there, in sable garments, stands,
And clasps, in meek despair, her shackled hands. J
And there, too, PEACE her olive loves to wave,
And strews its wither'd leaves on Fox's grave :
* Alluding to the difference of opinion between Lord Fitzwilliam
and Mr. Fox, respecting the French Revolution.
f His unfinished " History of James the Second."
I His efforts to procure the repeal of the " Test Act."
VOL. I. £ C
386 MEMOIRS OF
For well she knows, e'en at that last sad hour,
When Nature yielded to Disease's power,
Compell'd from fame, from life, from love, to part,
HER absence still weigh'd heaviest on his heart.
And FREEDOM there, distracted and forlorn,
With heart all bleeding, and with locks all torn,
Weeps for his loss, nor weeps his loss alone —
She feels that Fox's fate involves her own.*
E'en now, from A FRIG'S shores, she hears again
The moan of sorrow, and the shriek of pain ;
And sees round sable limbs that chains are wound,
Limbs, had he lived, which never had been bound !
Illustrious shade ! when at the throne of heaven
Suppliant thou kneel' st, and sue'st to be forgiven ;
While by thy side a dreadful angel stands,
And grasps the volume in his burning hands
Which holds thy faults, (for who from fault is free?)
With dauntless eye that stern accuser see ;
His voice be thunder — lightning be his look—
Whisper" The Slave-trade"— and he'll close the book!
Oh ! thou, my friend (a name I give to few —
A name which forms my pride, when given to you),
I will not tell thee, HOLLAND, " Seek relief
From sport or study, and forget thy grief;"
No ! still preserve it — still before thy view
Keep thou that great good man — his plans pursue ;
Recall his thoughts, words, looks, and what he was — be
you !
* Great fears were entertained that Mr. Fox's death would
retard the abolition, of the Slave Trade, but these apprehensions
happily proved unfounded.
M. G. LEWIS. 387
Though great by talents, virtue, birth, and fame,
" THE PEOPLE'S FRIEND," was sure his proudest name.
Still in his race that gracious name should run,
From patriot sire to still more patriot son :
Still should his line its public virtue prove,
Till Britain's gratitude, and Britain's love,
The epithet and name so well shall blend,
That who says " Fox," has said uThe People's Friend !"
So burn'd in Vesta's shrine the sacred fire,
Oft tho' it saw the guardian-maid expire ;
From age to age, still blazed the immortal flame,—
The priestess alter'd, but the fire the same !
" Stoke Farm, August 29.
" MY DEAR MOTHER,
" I was unexpectedly summoned to Oatlands
on Saturday last, where I remained till the end of
this week ; and during my absence my letters
were all kept for me at Stoke Farm, consequently
I could not obey your wishes of writing to you by
return of post.
" I am very glad to be relieved from my fright
respecting the things in Gerrard-street. I assure
you I gave them up for gone. It certainly was
not very easy for you to tell me what you did not
know yourself; and therefore you are most satis-
factorily exculpated from the charge of having
unnecessarily kept me in hot water. However,
388 MEMOIRS OF
on any future occasion, pray remember (when
other circumstances do not make an immediate
communication necessary), that I prefer knowing
the whole, or nothing ; for I have an admirable
talent at tormenting myself, and the truth can
never be worse than what I imagine when left to
myself.
" The party at Oatlands was very large, and
very gay : we had excellent music every night,
and the Egham races every morning; but un-
luckily I was so extremely ill during the whole
time, with headachs and a vile stomach com-
plaint, that I could enjoy nothing.
" The Duke of Clarence (to whom I had never
been presented, nor had even dined in his com-
pany in my life) came up to me on the race-
course, called me ' Lewis/ tout court, talked to
me as familiarly as if he had known me all his life,
and before we parted, he told me ' that he meant
to ask the Spanish Deputies to dinner, and that as
I was a man of romance and sentiment, he should
invite me to meet them at Bushy Park.' I dare
say, though, that he will forget the invitation.
He dined, however, at Oatlands the next day,
and was extremely civil to me. Dinner is on table,
so I must go and dress.
" Your affectionate son,
"M. G. LEWIS/'
M. G. LEWIS.
389
"Stoke Farm, Sept. 11.
" MY DEAR MOTHER,
" I wrote to you lately, but cannot recollect the
particular day ; — my letter mentioned my having
been at Oatlands : if it has not reached you, pray
take measures for getting it from the Post-office,
Lewes, to which place it was directed, as I have
a great dislike to having my correspondence read
by the clerks of the Post-office.
" As to Miss L 's situation, every thing has
its good and its bad side ; and having now gone
so far that it would be difficult to retire, it would
surely be most prudent to look only upon the first.
You know I never advised her going upon the
stage, nor, indeed, have much hopes of her suc-
cess ; but now what can be done ? It seems by
your account, that in the country she has been
very successful ; — and supposing that she were to
give up this profession, and any thing were to
happen to you, what would she have to depend
upon? As to a school, do you think such an
employment would have suited her, and that she
would have been contented with it ? As it is, the
profession in which she is engaged has many draw-
backs ; but it certainly has two advantages which
are the most essential to her, and which surely
must be the most consolatory to you: it makes
390 MEMOIRS OF
her happy and satisfied at the present, and ensures
her a livelihood for the future. I cannot but think
that, in this point of view, she is better situated
than if she were engaged in an employment un-
congenial to her wishes and disposition, and in which
she would consequently have been discontented.
Try a temporary separation. Certainly. I did not
mean your * giving her up entirely :' you may
remember, when we found it so difficult to procure
her an engagement, and when you said ' that it
weighed upon her spirits to think that your friends
must consider her as a dead weight upon you/
that I answered, ' she ought to be assured, that
your friends were quite ready to allow, that her
attention to you, and the pleasure which you de-
rived from her society, were a sufficient compensa-
tion for any expense which she might be to you,
and that as far as regarded their feelings, they
would rather wish her not to go upon the stage,
because it would in some measure deprive you of
that pleasure/ But your interest and Miss L 's
are, on this occasion, a little at variance ; and, in
consideration of her future subsistence, I think
that you ought occasionally to submit to sacrificing
the pleasure of her society. This would only be
for the summer months : while she is at Drury
Lane, and living in your house, there is nothing
M. G. LEWIS. 391
to be objected to : and the separation in question
is in fact nothing more than is required from every
person who is not fortunately situated enough to
be able to do without a profession. We cannot
have things exactly as we would wish them ; we
can only make the best of what we have. Of
course, you will understand that in saying all this,
I am only pointing out what appears to me to be
the reason of the thing : as to what you or Miss
L do, of that you must be yourself the only
proper person to decide.
" I am still at Lady Charlotte Campbell's, and
shall remain here for some days longer. I was
unjust to my new friend when I suspected him of
forgetting his promise to invite me to meet the
Spanish deputies ; for yesterday morning I re-
ceived a command from the Duke of Clarence to
dine with him at Bushy, on Sunday next. Twelve
miles to go, and twelve miles to return, is rather a
heavy penalty to pay for a dinner : luckily, it is a
penalty which is not exacted often, and the honour
of the thing must console me for the trouble ; I
am sure the pleasure will not. The rest of my
motions are so very uncertain, and depend so
much upon those of other people, that I cannot at
present give you any account of them. However,
I am glad that you are removing into the neigh-
392 MEMOIRS OF M. G. LEWIS.
bourhood of London, as it is probable that I may
shortly come there for a day or two. I have not
yet been to my uncle Robert's. William wrote to
me again the other day, and in all his letters he
desires to be remembered to you with affection.
Tom Sheridan was at Oatlands, and assured me,
positively, that my piece should come out before
Christmas.
" Your affectionate son,
" M. G. LEWIS."
END OF VOL. I.
WHITING, UEAUFORT HOUSE, SI HAND.
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